


A Mage & a (Former) Templar Walk Into an Inquisition ...

by erunamiryene



Series: Heroics, Shenanigans, War Stories, Magic - Tales From Thedas [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Christmas Fluff, Diary/Journal, Drama, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Letters, Satinalia, Sexy Times
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-06
Updated: 2015-04-20
Packaged: 2018-02-28 09:02:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 43,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2726576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erunamiryene/pseuds/erunamiryene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of stories & scenes (some humorous, some romantic, some dramatic) featuring Rana Trevelyan (a smart-ass mage happy to be out of the Circle but not entirely sold on this "herald of Andraste" thing) & Cullen, roughly following the trajectory of my DA:I playthrough (though there may be some timeline rearranging), updated when inspiration (or a flight of fancy) strikes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. On Expectations and Eating Habits

The fire had burned down nearly to embers. He’d taken his armor off some time ago and set it in a neat pile next to his chair, ostensibly to be more comfortable while he read through reports. His mind, however, refused to focus on the paper in his hand and instead kept lingering on the mage Cassandra had brought to join them. She always detoured through the training grounds to greet him when she returned from the Hinterlands, remarking on the training or jokingly asking if he’d remembered to eat that day (he usually hadn’t). Her smile always left him tongue-tied and stumbling, and her scent - something crisp and flowery - always lingered after she left. He was half-convinced it was some form of blood magic at this point.

He threw the report in the general direction of the war table. “Andraste’s ass, I can’t think of anything else!” Standing, he snatched his coat, stopped to pick up the report (which had completely missed the war table), and stomped toward the door. “Maybe a walk will clear my head,” he muttered, but stopped short just outside the chantry doors.

She was sitting on a rock, silver moonlight shining on her short-cropped white hair and illuminating her profile as she looked up at the sky, opening and closing her left hand. Cullen’s breath caught in his throat and all thoughts of a nice, calming walk fled his mind. He offered a silent prayer that he wouldn’t make an ass of himself _this_ time, and walked over.

“Are you all right?”

She jumped. “Oh! You startled me! I … well. I’m supposed to say yes, right? Because I’m the Herald of Andraste and everything depends on me and I can’t let everyone down.” She sighed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be putting all this on you.”

“I ... you … if you need someone to talk to, I’ll listen,” he said, fully aware he was willing to sit on a freezing rock simply to talk to her and wondering when he’d finally taken complete leave of his senses. “Maker knows you’ve listened to me go on more than enough times.”

She stood and smiled. “If you truly don’t mind, I would appreciate it … though perhaps we could go indoors? I think my backside froze to that rock while I was lost in thought.”

“Of course. I’ll rebuild the fire in the war room; come on.”

\--

Rana listened to their footsteps crunching on the snow and tried to calm her racing pulse. She’d never seen Cullen out of his armor and the way his tunic and breeches fit was like an early Feastday present. “Maker help me through this,” she mumbled under her breath. “At least let me form complete sentences, none of which are what I’m actually thinking right now.”

“Did you say something, Herald?”

“What?” She laughed nervously. “ _Please_ tell me you weren’t listening to me mutter to myself. And you can call me Rana … if you want to, that is.”

“I … uh, suppose that would be acceptable.” He paused, trying to reorganize his now-scattered thoughts. “But only when it’s the two of us. Not that I’m expecting we’ll be alone often. Not that that would be bad … I mean … Maker, I’m going to stop talking.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll build up the fire. Can you bring two chairs over?”

She brought one, then stopped to watch the muscles in his back move as he worked on the fire, moving quickly to get the second only when he finished and started to turn around. They took their seats.

After a long silence, Cullen cleared his throat. “Did you … wish to talk, Herald? I mean … Rana.”

“Honestly, it’s just nice to sit with someone and relax for a minute,” she replied. “If you’re busy, I don’t want to take up your time.”

“Not at all,” he said. “You can only read so many reports before they all run together.”

“Speaking of reports … have you eaten today?” She laughed when he didn’t answer. “I didn’t think so. That’s bad for you, you know.”

“I’m pretty sure we didn’t come in here to talk about my poor eating habits,” he said in a mock-chiding voice.

Rana's smile faded. “I just don’t want to burden you with my problems,” she replied, studying her hands.

“There are very few problems that wouldn’t benefit from talking to someone,” he said.

She watched the fire for a long moment. “There’s just so much pressure. So many people that depend on me. So little room for failure.” She sighed. “ _No_ room for failure, really. If I fail, the world ends.”

“And that’s why we’re here to help,” Cullen answered, watching the firelight flicker on her features. “You can’t do it alone, and you shouldn’t have to. For what it’s worth, I think you’re doing an excellent job. People are rallying to our cause. They’re fired up and want to help, and that’s because of you.”

“It’s because of what they think I represent,” Rana corrected. “And I don’t know if that’s what I am. I don’t even remember what happened. If I’m not what they think I am, then what?”

“Then you still inspire them, because you can make a visible difference,” he responded. “They need the breach closed. You can do that. And right now, that’s more important than the semantics of what you are or aren't.”

“I … thank you.” She smiled at him. “Maybe I just needed to get this off my chest.”

“See? Most problems get better when you talk about them. Since I was right, I think that’s earned me at least one day of not getting lectured for not eating.”

Rana laughed. “Fair enough; I won't mention it once tomorrow. But the next day, you have to go to the tavern with me for dinner to prove you actually eat.” 

“Nanny of Andraste, that’s what they should have called you,” Cullen grumbled. 

Standing, Rana patted him on the shoulder. "You can bring your map and talk troop movements. I won't even pretend to nod off this time."

"Oh, well, in _that_ case," he chuckled, "you have a deal."


	2. Journal Entries 1: Arrival at Skyhold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written accounts are important, right? Even if they do occasionally descend into ... non-professional topics.

Rana  
Well, here we are at Skyhold. I don’t think “escaping through a huge snowstorm after burying a town” was the _optimal_ solution, but at least we got as many of our people out as we could, and denied Corypheus his victory.

This is a much better place for our people, I think. More easily defended, more room (which we need as people stream in every day), and it grants us a modicum of privacy to regroup and plan.

I don’t remember much after escaping Haven, but I do remember that the last thing I saw before I fell unconscious was him. And the first thing I heard when I finally woke up was ... him. Naturally, this makes my stomach all fluttery, which is ridiculous; I’m not some idiot fifteen year old and should not be swept away by moronic romantic fantasies. Of _course_ the advisers would be looking for me; it’s not like it was something special.

But still … 

I'm ... mostly sure I didn't hallucinate the fact that every time I was half-conscious, he was there. Or at least, I want to think that I didn't hallucinate it. But I don't want to just pretend that that's absolutely what happened, because then I'm going to end up acting even more unhinged around him, and I really don't need to be alienating my military commander.

Honestly, it’s probably just me wanting to break _all_ the Chantry’s rules. Mages are free, right? May as well hit on templars too, right? I mean, not that that stopped people before the rebellion but now at least you won’t get in trouble for it. Plus, he may be a _former_ templar, but it's certainly a pleasant mental distraction to think about how he would look in that armor.

It’s extra ridiculous - all this fantasizing, that is - since all I’ve managed to do so far is really stick my foot in it when I thought it would be a great idea to ask him if he was celibate. Genius, pure genius; that’s certainly not weird or invasive or anything. I’m amazed he still talks to me at all after that. I mean … good information to have, but nothing that’s going to do me any good anyway because I can’t say five words to the man without turning into a blushing, stammering mess. Don’t look at his face? Think about what’s under the armor, and yeah that really keeps your mind on discussions of the status of forces. Look at his face? Oh, there’s hazel eyes and that scar and all the things his mouth could be doing other than trying to make it through a conversation with me. At this point I’m going to have to sit and stare at the sky just to keep a coherent train of thought, and that certainly in no way looks weird.

Now I’m just talking myself in circles, because I know I need to get around and talk to everyone. May as well get that over with; I mean, I can’t possibly get _worse_ at having conversations with him, right?  
R.

\--

Cullen  
-Pass word to officers to have everyone write home; word about Haven will have spread and families don’t need to be worrying

-Patrol rotation needs to be hammered out and split evenly between the companies

-Start sending scouts out to the areas around Skyhold

-Finish the off-hours guidance and disseminate it to the officers. It’s fine to go blow off some steam at the tavern, as long as everyone understands that they’re on-call and behave accordingly.

Josephine apparently feels that we all need to keep some kind of running account of the inquisition, as though we don’t have enough reports and lists and papers floating around as it is. I’ll humor her, because if I don’t she’ll just _politely_ hound me until I do.

Skyhold is elevated and remote and far more defensible than Haven ever could have been. Once we have a set guard rotation and trebuchets, it will be unlikely that anyone will be able to overrun us, at least without incurring considerable losses.

The company commanders report that everyone is getting settled in well. There have been surprisingly few arguments and altercations, though I suspect that will change as the war progresses and a day-to-day routine is established.

The recovery of the inquisitor has greatly bolstered the soldiers’ morale. Haven was a pretty decisive loss, and they needed something to raise their spirits … checking on the Herald in the camp before we arrived at Skyhold was a matter of necessity. Had we lost her, who knows what would have happened to the inquisition? Though it would be dishonest to act as though her recovery wasn’t important to me, as well. The strength of my feelings on the matter has me somewhat concerned, as it could lead to inappropriate situations and it’s important that all of the leaders involved here hold themselves above reproach.

Perhaps, however, this is falling into the same issue that plagued the mages and templars in the circles. We are taught to stay aloof and detached from our charges … and then the mages feel that we are cold and uncaring. Surely it’s possible to maintain the necessary levels of professionalism and yet not be reduced to stilted report deliveries (... much like this report here).

Leliana thinks that I don’t hear her and Josephine’s concerned conversations that I work too hard, which remind me of all the times the inquisitor - though at the time she was just the Herald (“just” the Herald of Andraste) - got after me for not eating. She managed to talk me into eating with her at the tavern once before Haven was attacked, and I’ll admit it was not an unpleasant experience. 

Leliana, if you're reading this (and I'm pretty sure you will), don’t read more into this than is here in an attempt to make things more interesting.  
-CRS


	3. Letter: Fallow Mire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First in a series of reports from the field.

“I think that concludes business,” Josephine said, consulting her to-do list. “We’ll adjourn until tomorrow.”

As they filed out of the war room, Leliana stopped Cullen. “Commander, the inquisitor said she was going to keep you informed of the terrain and resources and such?”

“Oh, yes,” he replied. “Did she send along a report?”

“Here’s her first. She can send them straight to you, if you’d prefer." Leliana smiled ever-so-slightly. "After all, that would be ... more efficient.”

“I’ll let her know,” Cullen said, taking the proffered paper and silently thanking years of templar training for his ability to keep his face blank. “Thank you.”

\--

Back in his office, he unrolled the letter and laid it out on his desk.

“Commander,  
As you may imagine from the name, the Fallow Mire is … not lovely. It’s constantly raining. The ground is squelchy. Did I mention the plague? And that's not even getting into the smell. Oh Maker, the _smell_. At least it's not an overly-large area? I guess that's one good thing.

Anyway, there is plenty of summer stone and blue vitriol here, so we should get people out collecting it. Just tell them to stay out of the water; disturbing it means disturbing the undead (oh, I forgot to mention the undead in my list of the Fallow Mire's dubious virtues). We’ve cleared the roads and set up two scout camps, so unless someone gets bit by the adventuring bug, our guys should be fine.

We defeated the Avaar chieftain’s son, and gained the allegiance of an Avaar tribesman, making our primary mission here a success. Once we’re done with the few small things I want to wrap up, we’ll be returning to Skyhold. I can stop by and give you any further information you need at that time.

Inquisitor Trevelyan”

Cullen folded the letter and laid it in the top drawer of his desk, trying to ignore his disappointment at how impersonal it sounded and determined to come up with _some_ question about the Fallow Mire before she got back.


	4. Tactical Maneuvers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rana shows up with dinner and an offer of a chess rematch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I take some liberties with furniture here, and will probably be doing so again in later chapters. There are far too few chairs in Skyhold.

_“We should spend time together more often.”  
“I’d like that.”_

Since leaving her quarters, Rana had traded stories with Varric, borrowed a book from Vivienne, chatted with Solas about the Fade, told Dorian a new joke she’d heard, and finally, had a drink - _one_ drink; let no one say that Rana Trevelyan can’t learn her lesson - with Bull while she waited for her food to be ready. 

Now she found herself on the battlements carefully balancing two bowls of shepherd’s pie, Cullen’s open office door mere steps away … and her nerve was wavering.

“This is ludicrous,” she muttered, starting for the door and then turning to stare out across the snowy landscape. After a long moment, she made a disgusted noise before striding over to the open doorway. “Evening, Commander.”

Cullen, startled, quickly stuck a paper back into his top desk drawer. “Rana,” he said, then coughed. “I mean, Inquisitor. What brings you by?”

A tingle shot down her spine when he said her name as she awkwardly held up the bowls. “It was dinnertime, so I thought I’d bring some by, and … um, was wondering if perhaps you’d like a rematch?”

Cullen looked down and shuffled through the work on his desk. If he quit now, he’d be up half the night trying to catch up. 

It wasn’t even a difficult decision. “Of course,” he said, smiling. “I was starting to think you’d figured out you should just keep your win and not challenge me again.”

Rana rolled her eyes. “Oh, please,” she scoffed. “Dorian was right, there is just no living with a smug you.”

“Here,” he said, sliding a stack of reports off the desk. “Set the bowls down while we make room and set up the board.” After transferring the piles of books and papers into roughly the same configuration on the floor, Cullen pulled a chessboard and a box of intricately engraved pieces off of his bookcase and set them in the center of the desk; Rana carried a chair over from the corner of the office and placed it on the opposite side of the desk, then inspected the chess set.

“Wardens and darkspawn,” she observed. “These are really nice.”

“I found them in a shop in Val Royeaux and couldn’t pass them up. Kind of a frivolous purchase, but ….”

“I promise, I won’t tell anyone you spent money on something that wasn’t super-serious,” Rana said, saluting. “We wouldn’t want them thinking you ever do anything but work.”

He smirked and turned the board so that the wardens were in front of Rana. “I’ll even let you go first so you don’t have any excuses when you lose.”

Cullen gave a far too detailed overview of patrol rotations and Skyhold defenses as they played because he knew, just as well as he knew the templar vows, that if he didn’t talk business he’d say something he had absolutely no business saying. Something like, “I’ve wanted you since Haven,” or worse, “I’ve had to deal with more inappropriately timed erections since meeting you than I have since I was fifteen,” or worst of all, just backing her up against the wall and finally capturing her mouth with his.

As she put on a decent show of paying attention to his strategy, Rana smiled to herself. She honestly couldn’t care less about the best interval for guard turnover, but the way his face lit up when discussing anything to do with their military or tactics … that, she could spend all day watching. So she nodded along at the right times and asked questions to keep him talking.

About an hour had passed when there was a knock on the door frame. “Commander, today’s duty log - oh!” The soldier stopped just inside the door. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You’re fine, Sergeant Grayston,” Cullen said, holding out his hand for the book. “Anything out of the ordinary?”

Grayston’s eyebrow twitched just a bit. “No, Commander. Just like yesterday. And the day before. And last week. And so on.”

“Good.” He skimmed through the entries. “Tell Brasington that we don’t need to log every argument between templars and mages, no matter how amusing or creative the name-calling gets.” Cullen initialed the bottom, then handed the book back to Grayston. “Go ahead and do turnover with Edwin.”

“Yes, Commander,” Grayston said, then saluted and exited the room.

Cullen turned back to the board and moved a piece. “Checkmate. That’s four,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Surely you’re not going to continue getting routed?”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” she replied archly, “but continuing on in the face of impossible odds is sort of what I do.”

“All right, one more ... and then I can’t in good conscience keep beating you.” He knew he should stop there but apparently his mouth had other plans. “You may not come back, and I’d hate for that to happen.”

“Oh, like I actually wouldn’t come back,” Rana said without thinking. “I mean … well.” She cleared her throat. “Let’s reset the board, shall we? After this one I’m going to have to retire and lick my wounds.”

“You could always come back tomorrow for lessons,” he said as they set the last pieces on the board. “If you want to, that is.”

She smiled. “I’d like that.”

He gazed at her, chess momentarily forgotten. “Me, too.”

Rana felt her cheeks flame and focused rather intently on the chessboard. “You said that already,” she murmured. A long moment passed, then she narrowed her eyes at Cullen. “But I’m on to you and your sneaky plan to distract me so you can win. Game on, Commander.”


	5. Journal Entries 2: On the Declaration of Feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you just have to get some feelings down on paper or you'll explode.

Rana  
Back when I was in the Circle, I rounded a corner in the library one evening, and there they were - one of the enchanters and a templar - arms around each other, heads bent in quiet conversation. I was shocked, not understanding why they’d risk the kinds of punishments that the first enchanter and knight-commander would inevitably give them … for what? A hug? Stolen kisses? It didn’t make sense to me at the time. I mean, I'd had dalliances here and there, but everyone expects that you'll stick with your own group, you know?

When the circles fell apart, I was enthralled by the idea of finally having _freedom_ , of not being under lock and key my whole life. I thought that sensation - that my life was my own - was the best thing I would ever feel in my life.

Then today, I decided I would go tell Cullen how I felt. I couldn’t deal with all the tension, all the times I’d almost touched him in far too familiar a fashion, the constant swirling lust that fogged my mind every time I spoke to him … or saw him … or thought about him. Either he’d say he didn’t feel the same and this farce would end, or … well. I knew we were getting along and there was some harmless flirting here and there, but anything _serious_ , at least on his end? I wasn't optimistic.

So I burst into his office and asked him if we could talk alone. He smiled _that_ smile - the one where his eyes crinkle just a bit at the corners and turn my knees to jelly - and agreed. We walked the battlements; I think he tried to make small talk but I was so wrapped up in figuring out how to say what I wanted to say that I completely missed it.

Of course, my carefully planned speech flew out the window the minute he focused those hazel eyes on me and asked me what I'd wanted to talk about; I just blurted my feelings all over the place. Let’s just say I am not in any way Orlesian - no art, no grace, just “gosh I really like you” and tripping all over my own tongue.

And then … 

And then he said he felt the same way.

Even though I’m the Herald.  
Even though I’m the Inquisitor.  
Even though I’m a _mage_.

Then he was closer to me than he has ever been, his hands are on my waist, his mouth is _right there_ , I’m thinking my heart’s going to burst out of my chest it's beating so hard, and …

“Report for you, Commander.”

And this guy just _wouldn’t go away_!

At least he was good for one thing: Cullen becomes even _more_ attractive when he goes into Angry Commander mode. If I hadn’t been trying to avoid drawing more attention my way, I probably would have actually fanned myself. That look of command … I can definitely think of some other places I’d like to see that look.

So the obnoxious kid finally leaves.

And then Cullen was right in front of me, his mouth was on mine, my world exploded into a million tiny rays of light. And now I understand that couple I saw at the Circle, why they would think the possible punishments would be worth it. 

I can’t stop smiling. I am in such a good mood. I _have_ to get this under control before the meeting this afternoon.   
R.

\--

Cullen  
-Change procedure for delivering reports. All reports need to go to the office from now on. All of them. Period.

This page is not going to see the light of day. Ever. I can’t even begin to imagine how conversations in the war room would go if Leliana or Josephine caught wind of this. Leliana already gives me far too many of those knowing looks of hers. I’m half tempted to burn this after I write it, just in case.

I tried. 

I tried my utmost to keep everything professional. She’s the Herald, the Inquisitor, and any impropriety is going to hurt not only the movement, but her.

And she’s a mage. The Maker certainly has a sense of humor.

For all of my devotion to duty, for all of my iron will that Cassandra likes to extol so much … I am still only human. I can only hear her laugh, watch her bite her lip, see her eyes sparkle, have far-ranging discussions with her so many times before I can’t just ignore it any longer. I’d resolved to talk to her today, to just ask her if she felt the same.

I wasn’t expecting her to show up in my office shortly after lunch.

“I thought we could talk. Alone.”

I will admit now - and never again, _ever_ \- that I briefly entertained the idea of just locking the office doors and attempting to say something witty and charming that would result in her throwing herself into my arms. Luckily, my common sense intervened before I attempted something that asinine, and we ended up out on a walk.

(“It’s a nice day” promptly confirmed that my original idea of attempting to be witty and charming was not a good one.)

“Cullen, I care for you, and …”

Were I prone to overwrought turns of phrase like Varric (I’m not), I would probably say that my heart skipped a beat when those words came tumbling out of her mouth in a rush. Here we’ve been fumbling through conversations for weeks, and we’ve felt the same. It’s somewhat terrifying; I have a hard time accepting when things go well. Things going well usually means that things are going to go very poorly very soon.

The Maker, clearly not wishing to disappoint, sent Lavell up on the battlements with a report just as I’d pulled her close enough to feel the warmth of her breath on my face. It’s a good thing that duty assignments aren’t due for another two days, or Lavell would already be on his way to the Hissing Wastes. 

I wasn’t going to wait around for another interruption, though. I was going to kiss her at least once, an impulsiveness thoroughly out of character for me ... but an impulsiveness rewarded almost instantly with a dazzling smile. 

“That was what I wanted."

I may have to be impulsive more often.


	6. A Mystery Solved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian, Iron Bull, and Varric try to figure out what's up with the commander

“Something very odd is going on,” Dorian said as the group made their way down the rocky path on the Storm Coast.

“More odd than the big hole in the sky?” Bull asked. 

“Possibly. Yesterday before we left, I passed our intrepid commander of forces on his way to breakfast. He was whistling. And looked _happy_.”

There was a long pause.

“Curly … was cheerful.” Varric’s voice was full of disbelief.

“I swear!”

Rana, up ahead of everyone else and trying to suppress her smile upon hearing them talk about Cullen, was desperately praying that the conversation wouldn’t turn to her.

“What on Thedas would make Curly happy enough to _whistle_?”

“Maybe some of his guys got together and found him some … company,” Bull laughed.

Dorian chuckled. “Not possible, he’d just ask her to help him file his reports.”

They were still on the subject when they stopped near the river for lunch.

“I’m just saying, someone that quiet? They’re hiding something. No one works that much,” Dorian said as he sat down on a stone near Rana. “Hey Inquisitor, what’s that you’re writing?”

Rana didn’t look up. “Oh, I told Cullen - I mean, Commander Cullen that I’d send back reports on the resources here, what we encountered, things like that,” she replied, hoping she sounded nonchalant.

“He must really be riding you for those,” Dorian said. “Weren’t you working on it this morning before we set out, too?”

Rana closed her eyes as she felt her face start burning; she’d immediately thought about exactly what kind of riding she’d like Cullen to be doing.

There was a profound silence.

“It occurs to me,” Varric observed, “that we haven’t asked the Inquisitor if she knows what’s going on with Curly.”

“That’s true! Say, Boss,” Bull said in an overly casual tone, “do _you_ happen to know anything about why the commander has been in such a chipper mood?”

“Me? Why would I know?”

“Well, you two do seem to be pretty good friends,” Dorian said.

“What, we can’t be friends?”

“And there’s the matter of that intense blushing episode a second ago,” Varric added.

“Boss, if you don’t tell us, we’re just gonna make shit up.” 

Dorian nodded. “Ooh, what if reality is even _more_ scandalous than what we can come up with?”

“Between the three of _us_?” Varric asked skeptically. “I’d like to think we have better imaginations than that.”

“I got it,” Dorian said. “I bet they -”

“We just kissed, okay?” Rana blurted, not wanting to hear whatever twisted scenario was about to fall out of Dorian’s mouth. 

“Mm-hmm.” Dorian nodded. “Does he call you ‘Herald’ in bed?”

“We haven’t -”

Bull raised his hand. “Is there an actual stick in his ass, or is it figurative?”

“Now _really_ -”

“It’d have to be figurative,” Dorian replied, shaking his head. “No way are they kinky enough for that sort of thing.”

Rana stood up. “Andraste’s ass, you are all impossible."

Dorian grabbed her wrist and patted the rock next to him. "Come on ... don't go sit in the rain alone; sit in the rain with us! You know we're just giving you a hard time." 

Rana sighed and perched on the edge of the rock.

"You know, a hard time ... like Cullen probably wants to," Bull grinned. "I'm sorry!" he said when Rana glared at him. "I couldn't pass up that opportunity, it was a perfect set-up!"

"Is it going to be like this the _entire_ time we're out- Varric, what are you writing?"

"Nothing!" he said, shoving the parchment behind his back.


	7. Letter: Storm Coast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second in a series of field reports

A runner from the rookery appeared in the doorway holding two scrolls. “Two messages for you, Commander.”

“Two? No matter, thank you.” He took them, closed his door, and went back to his desk.

“Commander,  
Our survey of the Storm Coast has yielded large deposits of serpentstone, iron, and summer stone, as well as elfroot, embrium, blood lotus, and black lotus. We’ve set up scout camps, reached an accord with the Blades of Hessarian, and the giant shouldn’t be a problem anymore (though I’d caution any troops to beware of the dragon that likes to mill around). We’ll be leaving for Skyhold tomorrow, if you require any further information.  
Inquisitor Trevelyan”

A little surprised at the impersonal tone, he folded the letter and placed it in his drawer with the report from Fallow Mire, then opened the second.

“Cullen,  
The Storm Coast is beautiful: high cliffs, crashing waves, the contrast of grey stone and green grass. The wind and rain are bracing; the landscape is harsh yet beautiful. 

I wanted to send back a whole thoughtful missive, but then I think about how you kissed me and I get a stupid look on my face and forget what I wanted to say. I’m glad we decided that we’re not talking about how long we’d wanted that to happen because that discussion might be mortally embarrassing for me. 

When we get back, you’re going to need to clear your schedule. I’m cold, wet, and am in dire need of a hug, a good bowl of lamb stew, and a game of chess in which I beat the pants off you. You’re free to choose whether that’s literal or figurative.  
Yours,  
Rana

PS, write your sister and tell her you’re fine before she comes out here and yells at you. I’ll let her; you deserve it and you know it.”

Cullen chuckled at the last line; he hadn’t realized he’d left Mia’s letter on his desk. He folded Rana’s letter and tucked it into an engraved box on his desk.


	8. News Travels at the Speed of Boredom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Word spreads fast at Skyhold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know Awkward Clipboard Guy was telling *everyone*. The rumor mill in the military is an amazing thing.

Sergeant Grayston and Corporal Bronswell were walking the battlements.

“Hey Bronswell, have you noticed something … different about the commander lately?”

“Like what?”

“He was whistling on the way to breakfast this morning. I know I saw him smiling the other day. And we haven’t had a surprise inspection in four days.”

Bronswell rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell me you think that bullshit Lavell was saying is true, too.”

“What, that the commander’s with the inquisitor?” Grayston scoffed. “Lavell just wants attention. Or _really_ wants to get stationed somewhere unpleasant. Seriously, can you even picture that?”

“I don’t know about you, but I’m not exactly averse to picturing the inquisitor.” Bronswell grinned.

Another corporal joined them. “And what are we talking about up here, you slackers?”

“Hey, Stephens. We were just talking about the inquisitor.”

“Oh man, _her_. I’ve even noticed some of the templars looking at her, and you’d think they’d all hate mages.”

“Are you sure they weren’t looking at her _because_ they hate mages? You know, in a ‘man I wish I could slap you back in a Circle’ kind of way?”

“Trust me, Grayston, that isn't how they were looking at her.”

“You can't exactly blame them," Bronswell added. "Have you seen how her ass -”

“Are we expecting some great threat from the glacier over there, gentlemen?”

The three jumped in unison. “Commander!” Grayston said, coming to attention. “We were just …” he coughed, “you know, passing the time.”

“And you thought the best way to do that was to sit up here talking about the Herald of Andraste’s ass, is that it?”

“Yes, Commander. Er … no, Commander. We’ll move along, Commander.” Bronswell and Stephens bolted in separate directions.

Cullen raised an eyebrow at the remaining sergeant. “Better get moving, Grayston. You report in an hour, do you not?”

“Yes, Commander.”

\--

Rana had returned from the Storm Coast earlier that day; she and Cullen were in her quarters, talking over their nightly game of chess.

“So you found your troops gossiping like a bunch of old ladies over … wait, you never said what they were gossiping about,” Rana said, contemplating the chessboard.

“I don’t really think that part is important,” Cullen answered. “Are you going to make a move sometime soon or are we pausing this game until after the next age is named? You’re only delaying the inevitable.”

“Well see, now I’m all curious,” Rana said, deftly taking one of his pieces. “You have to tell me.”

“No, I don’t think I do,” he replied as he took one of hers. “Besides, if I told you all the gossip I hear from the ranks, we’d be here all night. They’re worse than a bunch of Chantry sisters.”

“Aww, please?” Another piece. “You know, we could just stop the gossip in its tracks and put an announcement on the front of Skyhold.” She grinned.

“I don’t think that’s going to help,” he chuckled, then scrutinized the board and moved a piece. “Check.”

\--

Grayston tossed coins into the pile in the middle of the table. “I see that bet and raise you two silver.” He studied his cards, then slapped them down onto the table. “I _have_ to know.”

“Are you still on this? It’s not like he came up all mad and yelling about how you were talking about his girlfriend,” Jesh chimed in. “You’d think that’s what would have happened if anything was going on. Plus, come on. The commander? If that guy could marry duty logbooks he probably would. And when would he have time?”

“Yeah, but why would Lavell make something like that up?”

“For attention?” Jesh shrugged. “And it worked, it’s all anyone’s talked about for a week now.”

“Obviously, we need to find out what’s going on, and I think I have a plan.” Grayston looked around at the assorted group. There are plenty of us patrolling, right? We see most of the comings and goings from the commander’s office, and to get there the inquisitor basically has to cross the main courtyard of Skyhold. We just need to pay attention to what they’re actually doing.”

“If you’re going to do that, why don’t you just go ask Leliana to help you?” Bronswell scoffed. “Or you could just ask the commander, if you have the guts. You probably don’t, though.”

Grayston sat back and thought about it. “You know what, that’s what I’m going to do. Varel said he saw the commander heading for the main keep a couple of hours ago; I can loiter in there for a bit.” He tossed down his cards and stood up. 

“You better come back and report!” Bronswell called as Grayston walked out the door.

\--

“I let you win, you know,” she said, picking up the pieces.

“Is that the lie we’re telling ourselves today?”

Rana laughed. “Can’t even let me have one, can you?”

“Well, maybe one,” Cullen said, catching her wrist and pulling her to him. “But just one, because I really do have a lot of work to get done.” He kissed her. “Tomorrow?”

“As always,” she grinned. “Good night, Cullen.”

“Night, Rana.”

As Cullen left the keep, Grayston jogged up and fell into step with him. “Commander, could I talk to you for a minute?”

“Of course, Grayston. What do you need?”

When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Grayston took a deep breath. “Commander, are … uh, you and the inquisitor … ?”

Cullen folded his arms and waited.

“Well, I mean … that is … “

Dagna, pockets jingling with coin as she headed back from the tavern, stopped. “Gentlemen, I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation, and I believe I have a theory that will answer this question.” She gave Cullen a very serious look. “Now Commander, when I say ‘Rana Trevelyan’ …?”

Cullen, much to his dismay, could not stop the smile from spreading across his face.

“I _knew_ it!” Dagna said, grinning. 

Grayston’s mouth dropped open. “Commander, that’s like … well … I mean … ”

Dagna was practically doing a jig. “This is the cutest thing ever. I won’t tell anyone, I promise. But seriously, adorable. And well done. She’s pretty great. Not that you’re not, Commander, she did well too. Bye!” And she was up the steps and gone.

“All right, Grayston, so now you know. How many people are back at the barracks waiting for you?”

“Commander?” 

Cullen raised an eyebrow.

Grayston sighed. “At last count at least twenty soldiers had wagers on if Lavell was lying or not.”

“I see, and what was the general consensus?”

“Well … that relationships weren’t really your thing. A ‘married to the job’ kind of deal, you know?” Grayston paused. “I mean, we find you asleep at your desk all the time and you put your quarters _in_ your office.” 

Cullen chuckled. “Fair points. I suppose mentioning that we were trying to keep this quiet is a moot point by now.”

Grayston laughed. “If there are soldiers who haven’t heard about this, it’s because they’re out on patrol and haven’t been back to Skyhold yet. You've got the people who are absolutely sure it’s true, the people who just _want_ it to be true, and the people who are fabricating stories out of whole cloth - my favorite is that you're literally chatting up Andraste, and ..." He coughed. "Well, the details aren't important. Basically, it’s all anyone’s talking about.” He paused. “If I can speak freely, Commander, it’s not like anyone really thinks it’s a bad thing. If anything, it makes you a little more relatable. You know … you’re not a golem who loves reports and running drills.”

“I _do_ love running drills,” Cullen nodded.

“Maybe you could love them a little less now, Commander? I mean, you have less time to fill now, right?” Grayston looked hopeful. “At least not the early morning ones?”

“Grayston, I would be a poor leader if I let a personal relationship get in the way of my duties.”

“I was afraid of that,” Grayston sighed. “Well, I have a card game to get back to. Have a good night, Commander.” 

“And you, Grayston.”


	9. I Will Weave You Into the Tapestry of My Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anything can happen on a trip to the study.

They’ve been in the study underneath Skyhold for an hour, looking through the old books. He shares her love of reading, though his tastes run more to history and tactics than tales and magic.

She looks up at a higher shelf and asks, unthinking -

“Can you lift me up? I can’t reach that book.”

He wraps his hands around her waist and boosts her up, careful to not let his hands slip … though he wouldn’t be too sorry if they slipped upward just a little.

“Got it!” she says happily, and he lowers her back to the ground. She turns, his hands still on her waist, and opens her mouth to thank him but nothing comes out when she realizes how close they are. Heat blossoms in her stomach and rockets through her veins, and she makes no effort to step away.

He has a brief but furious internal debate over the wisdom of what he’s about to do, though the actual decision to do it has long since passed.

“I -” she says -

and then his mouth is on hers, and they’re backing up against the bookcase, his arm braced over her head to deflect any books they knock loose.

Her hands slide up under his shirt and as they break apart so she can whisk it over his head and toss it to the side -

“You taste good. You swiped one of Leliana’s candies while she was arguing with Josephine, didn’t you?”

He grins, more relaxed than she’s ever seen him. “Don’t tell on me.”

“I would never ….” She trails off as she really looks at him. “Oh, Maker. _Wow_ ,” she whispers as she skims her fingertips over his chest, across his stomach, over the V at his hipbones. She bites her lip, her breath grows shallow. “Look at _you_.” Naked desire burns hot in her eyes. 

He flexes - just a little - then smiles when her eyes light up like a kid in a toy store and a tiny squeak of pleasure escapes her.

She leans forward and kisses his collarbone, his jawline, his neck, her hands roaming all over as he begins unhooking the clasps on her shirt.

“There are too many damn hooks on here,” he half-growls, deeply frustrated.

“I have more shirts,” she murmurs before she nips his earlobe. There’s a tug, then a tearing sound, and then the rush of cool air on her now-bared chest. She leans into his hands as he cups her breasts, lightly rolling her nipples between his thumb and forefingers; she whimpers as he captures first one, then the other, with his mouth.

He trails kisses down her torso, ending up on his knees in front of her. Her first boot comes off easily - discarded with the other clothing - but the second stubbornly resists.

“All of your clothing hates me,” he laments.

She laughs. “Pull harder!”

The boot finally comes off; he smiles triumphantly before he throws it toward the other side of the study. 

She shimmies out of her breeches and smallclothes, kicking them aside and grinning as she strikes a pose in front of him; he stares for a long moment, captivated by the planes and curves of her body. 

He slides one hand along the inner side of her thigh; as her knee buckles he catches her leg and hooks her knee over his shoulder.

“What are -”

His tongue grazes her clit; she inhales sharply. He stops and looks up at her.

She whimpers and rakes her hands through his hair. “Maker, no, don’t stop!” she pleads.

He obliges; her increasingly erratic breathing and rolling hips are both pleasure and torment, and her leg slipping off his shoulder is all the encouragement he needs to stand and pull her against him.

She cups his face and kisses him hard, tasting herself on his mouth. Shoving her hands between them to unlace his breeches, she slides them and his smalls down past his ass and wraps her hand around his rock-hard shaft. 

His breathing turns ragged and he closes his eyes in a near-futile attempt to maintain control. 

She strokes the length of him, is indescribably pleased when his hands start shaking; she bites his shoulder, and whispers a single word. 

“Please?”

The remnants of his self-control crumble. Eyes blazing, he grabs her ass and lifts her up; she guides him into her and wraps her legs around his waist. 

There’s a moment of fumbling as they try to settle on a rhythm, all adjustments and questioning glances and readjustments, and the imperfection of it all is beautiful to her, something she’ll remember forever. Suddenly it works, it just clicks and everything is electric and stretched taut, and she arches her back as he slides fully into her at just the right time and just the right angle. “ _Cullen_.”

The way her voice caresses his name makes him lightheaded, and soon his careful rhythm gives way to wanton, mindless thrusting. She muffles her short breathy screams against his neck; her nails draw long angry welts down his back as her orgasm wracks her body, leaving her shuddering against him.

He comes a few moments later, fingers digging into her hips as he spends himself inside her, rasping her name against her collarbone. 

They slide down the bookcase and end up in a somewhat undignified tangle of limbs. She grimaces and pulls a book out from under her as he pulls his breeches back up around his hips. “Maybe next time we should go somewhere that has a bed," she laughs, pushing a lock of hair off his sweaty forehead.

"My original plan for our first time certainly didn't include fumbling at you in an underground study," he agrees, handing her her breeches. "Here, the floor must be cold." 

She leans over and kisses his temple as she takes them, standing briefly to slide them on. "I don't think I'd classify that as fumbling," she says as she resumes her seat next to him. 

He takes her hand, kisses it. "But next time will be better." He picks up one of the fallen books and opens it. "Orlesian fairy tales." Reluctant to make any move to leave, he hands it to her. "Read to me?" 

A smile lights her face; she opens the book as he wraps an arm around her shoulder and pulls her close. "’Deep in the heart of Emprise du Lion, the white-haired witch made her home .…’”


	10. On the Hazards of Going to Denerim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone was young and impetuous once ... even Cullen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taking a holiday hiatus, but I wanted to share this one before I did. :)

There were mission reports to read, scouting parties to review and send out, and a message from one of the company commanders - an argument over cards had resulted in broken barracks common room furniture that would require a special requisition to get fixed promptly. Cullen had already been putting off getting up for the last half hour - the latest chapter in his book was riveting, Rana was curled up against him and playing with his hair, and the blankets were very pleasantly warm. But … things needed to get done, and if he was gone for too long he’d have a line of people at his office door.

“I suppose I ought to get back to work,” he sighed, sliding out of bed. "You were right, though; this was much better than going to the tavern for dinner."

Rana pulled all the blankets more tightly around her. “I simply do not understand why you refuse to get your roof fixed,” she said, pointing irritably at it. “I’m sticking with surprising you elsewhere for fooling around; it is too damn cold in here.”

“We can put those materials to better use elsewhere,” he said in the patient tone of someone who’d had the same argument a number of times, as he crossed the room to open the trunk he kept his clothes in. “Especially now that-”

“Hang on,” Rana interrupted. “What … is _that_?”

He turned. “What is what?”

She twirled her finger. “Turn around again?”

He did. She scanned his legs again. And there it was, plain as day on his right calf - a templar sword pointed upward, with two flames on each side, drawn in stark black. 

“You have a tattoo!” she said, almost accusingly. “You didn’t tell me you had a tattoo!”

“Oh, that,” he chuckled. "I guess it never really crossed my mind to bring it up."

"I'm waiting," she said. "Tell me the story."

“Well, a group of us new templars got R&R in Denerim -”

“R&R?”

“Rest and relaxation; leave time.”

“Ahhh, time to take a break from the continued oppression of my people.” She winked. “Continue.” She pulled her knees up under her chin, watching him expectantly.

“So we got to go to Denerim, and what's the first thing a group of young men is going to do?"

"Go visit the ladies of ... ill repute," Rana answered promptly.

Cullen blinked. "All right, _second_ thing."

"Oh. Go to the tavern, obviously."

"Exactly. So we spend a couple hours there-"

"Wait, at the tavern or at the house of ill repute?" Rana smiled sweetly.

"No young man needs _hours_ at the house of ill repute," Cullen laughed. "We're at the tavern and hear that there's a Rivaini tattoo artist passing through Denerim. Of course, we all thought it would be a great idea to descend on this poor artist en masse to get tattoos." He smiled ruefully. "You know … new templars, greatest adventure of your life, service to something bigger than yourself -"

"Too much alcohol," Rana chimed in.

"Too much alcohol ... thus, absolutely the best time to commemorate your great life decision." He shook his head. "And it's always something the older templars make fun of you for, even though they have them, too.” He smiled at the memory. “Sometimes I forget I was young and stupid, just like everyone else. But you can’t make fun of me,” Cullen said, mock-glaring at her. “You have one, too.”

Rana burst out laughing. “You understand you’re not intimidating standing there naked and holding your pants, right?”

“That is not the point.”

She held up her hand and tried to look solemn. “I swear by Andraste and all her various bits that I won’t make fun of you.”

He looked relieved.

She grinned wickedly. “... when anyone else is around. When it’s just you and me? You’re free game, _templar_.”

“Is that so, _mage_?” he said, tossing the breeches aside and crossing back to the bed, then leaning over to kiss her. “Why is it all the mages I meet are the smart-mouth variety?”

“You’re just lucky, I guess,” Rana laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down onto the bed.


	11. What Do You Get an Inquisitor for Satinalia ...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen wants to get Rana a Satinalia present. Trouble is, he doesn't know what to get for her. Lucky for him, Skyhold is full of busybodies who are more than willing to advise him.
> 
> Part 1/3 of the Satinalia mini-arc.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... when she already owns a comb? (Sorry guys, I couldn't help it. Enjoy your bonus super-obscure Star Wars joke. :D )
> 
> Many, many, many thanks to karmadownurgun for reading it over and helping me brainstorm. :D

-1-  
It was a month until Satinalia, and Cullen was no closer to figuring out what to give Rana than he had been a month ago. He looked down at his latest paper full of crossed out ideas, sighed, and finally admitted to himself that he was going to have to ask for help.

“But who to ask?” he muttered to himself.

After much consideration, he decided that Josephine was probably his best - and most discreet - choice, and headed to her office.

"Good evening, Commander," she said as he stepped through her door. "What brings you by on this chilly evening?"

"Well ... I'm ... in a bit of a, uh, bind and was hoping maybe you could help."

"Of course! Please, come sit down and I'll see what I can do." As Cullen sat in the chair opposite hers, she held out a box of candy. "Chocolate?"

"No, thank you."

She set the box aside, picked up her quill and readied a clean sheet of parchment. "Now, what is your issue, Commander?"

"As you know, Satinalia is fast approaching, and I'd like to do something nice ... you know, for Rana. But I don't know what to do." He hung his head. "At all."

Josephine grinned widely. "That is the _sweetest_ thing! I can definitely help you with this! Let's see, you can - "

The door opened behind them.

"What are we helping Cullen with?"

"Oh _Maker_ , it’s Cassandra," Cullen sighed as he stood. "Don't trouble yourself, Josephine, I'm sure I can - "

Josephine waved him back into his seat. "Sit down, Commander. Cassandra, the commander wants to do something terribly romantic for his sweetheart - "

"That's not even remotely what I said - "

"But it's clearly what you meant; now let me finish." Josephine turned back to Cassandra. "And he needs ideas."

Cassandra's eyes lit up. "Oh, how _lovely_!" she exclaimed. " _Please_ let me help!"

Cullen, resigned to the fact that he wasn't really part of the conversation anymore, pinched the bridge of his nose and reminded himself that it had been his idea to come ask for help in the first place.

Josephine took out a new sheet of parchment. "Candlelit dinner, absolutely. I have some lovely lightly scented candles you can have to set the mood in her quarters."

"And I'll send my runner to Val Royeaux to get ingredients for a scrumptious dinner," Cassandra added.

"Ladies ... "

"And dessert ... what about dessert?" Josephine tapped her quill on her desk. "I've got it! There's a boutique there - Guillaume's - that makes the most delicately exquisite sculpted chocolates. Perfect." She jotted it down. "Now - "

"Ladies!"

They both looked at him, then back at each other. 

“He’s right; we’re forgetting Ferelden,” Cassandra said. “Perhaps instead of an Orlesian dinner, he could present her with a Marcher first course and a Ferelden main course? That way, he’s incorporating both of their homes.”

“Stew as a main course?” Josephine said, wrinkling her nose.

“They have … a few other dishes,” Cassandra said, though she sounded less sure of herself.

Josephine made a note on a second piece of paper. “I shall research it, but we should consider the Orlesian meal our first choice.”

“Pardon me - “

“Don’t worry, Commander, I’m writing all this down for you,” Josephine interrupted.

Cassandra’s eyes widened. “He should write her a poem! A _love_ poem!”

“A _poem_?” Cullen groaned. “Are you actively trying to punish me, Seeker? Or punish Rana?”

“But Cullen … just imagine! She unfolds the parchment you’ve left at her place at the table … her eyes scan the words you’ve chosen that bare your soul to her … oh!” She sighed, clasping her hands over her heart. “It’s just so _beautiful_!”

“And you think that’s really what Rana wants?”

“ _All_ women love heartfelt poems,” Cassandra said in a tone that brooked no argument.

“Bet Sera doesn’t,” he muttered under his breath.

“What?” 

“Nothing, Seeker.” He sighed. “If you think she would like it that much, then … I shall try,” he said, his voice a mix of determination and trepidation.

“So there’s your assignment,” Josephine said. “I will keep you informed of the developments as far as dinner goes, and if I have any more ideas I’ll be sure to send them over.”

Cullen stood and nodded at each of them. “Thank you, ladies. I think. I’ll go … start wasting parchment trying to write this poem.” He looked at both of them. “I’d appreciate it if we could keep this between us. I don’t want Rana finding out early.”

“Oh, of course!” they chorused. 

“Well … good evening, then.” He exited the office, trying to convince himself that he hadn’t just made everything worse.

-2-  
Cullen read the parchment in front of him and grimaced.

“Awful. Simply awful,” he muttered as he crossed everything out and started over. A tap on his door drew his attention from the paper.

“Come in,” he called, hoping whoever it was wouldn’t notice how relieved he sounded.

“Message for you, Commander.” Jensen, Leliana’s courier, strode into the room and held out a rolled-up piece of parchment.

“Thank you. I should have a response momentarily; please, have a seat.” He gestured at the empty chairs along the wall, then unrolled the paper.

_“Shoes. Find her a beautiful, delicate pair of shoes. Not boots! Nothing practical! And then a dress to match. Make her feel like a princess. When you’re ready to go to Val Royeaux, let me know.”_

Cullen read the note over a couple of times, considered not even replying, then finally sighed and picked up his quill. In the empty space at the bottom of her note:

_“Noted. I can clear space in my schedule over the next few days; we can leave tomorrow if that works for you. Please advise on the best schedule for you._

_Also, I had been laboring under the assumption that my request was private; I hope we haven’t been running around telling everyone.”_

He rolled it back up and handed it back to the courier. “Thank you for waiting.”

Jensen bowed. “Commander.” And as swiftly and silently as she’d arrived, the courier departed.

An hour later, a raven landed on his desk, bearing a note.

_“Tomorrow morning. We’ll send a runner to pick up the final product, so this will just be there and back._

_Also, of course we haven’t been telling everyone, but don’t you think it’s better to have more to choose from?”_

The next morning, he retrieved his horse from the stable, secured his pack on the saddle, and made his way to the front gate.

Vivienne was there, also mounted.

“Good morning, Vivienne,” he said.

“Commander. I’m informed you’re ready to travel to Val Royeaux?”

“Oh, are you accompanying us?”

“No, my dear; I’m accompanying _you_. Leliana can’t be gone from the rookery that long, and we both agreed that I’m really the ideal person to assist you on this particular part of your quest.”

“I, uh … “ Cullen was nonplussed. “I’ll be pleased to have your company,” he finally managed.

“Of course you will, darling. Shall we be off?”

\--

For possibly the fiftieth time, Cullen reflected that there likely wasn’t a shop in Val Royeaux that he felt less at ease in.

Vivienne was gliding from dress to dress, pulling out options and having them hung in a viewing area. He was standing in one place, shuffling from foot to foot and wondering why the salespeople persisted in asking him what his preferred type of silk was (“I don’t know … the silky kind?” was not very well-received). The only thing keeping him from running for the entrance was reminding himself that this was for Rana, and everything had to be perfect.

“Commander, we’re ready,” Vivienne called. “Come see what you think.”

He crossed the shop and made a show of looking at all the dresses.

“That many ruffles … does a dress need to be _festooned_ with ruffles?”

“So no on that one?”

“That’s a no,” he said confidently. A salesperson stepped up and whisked it away.

“These are all ….” He paused, not wishing to cause offense. “They’re too … much, for Rana. I think she likes simpler things.”

Vivienne raised an eyebrow. “Well, if you think you can do better than I, please go pick something.” She perched on a chair. “I’ll wait here.”

He wandered from rack to rack, pulling things out then putting them back. Sighing, he returned to the viewing area empty-handed.

“Let’s just choose from these,” he said in a defeated tone of voice.

“Good choice, darling.” Vivienne smiled.

“And your recommendation would be …?”

She stood and pulled each dress off its display hook, turning them around to scrutinize the back. “I would choose … this one,” she said, returning to a velvet dress with a scoop neckline, satin ribbons trailing from the elbows, and a gather on the left side to display a lace panel. “The skirt isn’t too full, there aren’t too many layers to weigh her down, and it’s not, as you say, ‘festooned’ with ruffles.” She turned it around. “And the crisscrossing ribbons laced across the back are a beautiful detail as well.” She gazed at the dress again. “To be honest, I find it plain, but you are right, the inquisitor is not as … fashion-minded as I am.” 

“And you’re sure this is something she’ll like?”

“Indubitably,” Vivienne nodded.

“Good. That’s all I’m concerned about.” He looked somewhat helplessly at all the bolts of cloth the salespeople had laid out. “I … like this deep purple velvet?”

Vivienne looked mildly surprised. “The plum is an excellent choice, Commander. I would recommend the cream and lavender silks for the ribbons and ties, and cream-colored lace.”

Cullen nodded. “I’ll trust your judgment on the details.”

Vivienne conferred with the proprietor, and finally came to an arrangement satisfactory for all parties. She motioned toward the front door. “Just two more stops, Commander.”

“Two? I thought I just had to find her shoes.”

“And what are you wearing while the inquisitor wears the dress you just picked out? Armor?”

“Well, I ... .”

“Hadn’t thought much about it, I know.”

“I’m not dressing like an Orlesian,” he said with finality.

Vivienne chuckled. “I know, my dear. I already have a shop in mind for you.” She led him three doors down, into a shop heavy with the rich smell of leather. “Jacques, darling!”

“Vivienne!” The owner - a tall, lanky man with thick black hair - ambled over. “I haven’t seen you in _ages_!”

“Oh, you know how things get busy, my dear.” She motioned to Cullen. “This is Ser Cullen. He is in the market for an _exquisite_ pair of breeches and a tunic whose fit you deem best, preferably in colors that will complement a deep plum gown.”

Jacques looked Cullen up and down. “Excellent. I know just the thing; come with me.”

Relieved to be back on familiar ground fashion-wise, Cullen trailed after Jacques.

“So, I’m thinking dark breeches in a soft, supple leather, and ….” He stepped back and eyed Cullen. “I need to see you without your armor.” He summoned an assistant - a boy of about fifteen - to assist Cullen with removing his armor. Jacques walked a full circle around Cullen. “Yes. Black breeches, a loose-fitting tunic. You don’t want something that says ‘I just removed my armor,’ you want something that says ‘armor isn’t even a consideration this evening’.” He turned to hunt through the rack of clothing, pulling out black breeches and a white shirt. “Here, I have something similar - an order that wasn’t picked up. Try this on.”

Cullen took the proffered breeches and shirt, disappearing behind the screen in the corner to try them on. When he emerged, Jacques smiled.

“They practically fit you already. I can have them altered by the time you’re ready to leave Val Royeaux. Go show Vivienne and see what she thinks.”

Cullen, feeling slightly less at ease with how the shirt tended to drape open, made his way to the front of the shop.

“My goodness, darling, she’s going to faint at your feet,” Vivienne smiled. “It’s very dashing. Tousle your hair just right and you’ll look like a well-to-do pirate.” She eyed him. “And it fits so well already!”

Jacques appeared from around the corner. “There are a few things I need to fix, but for you I can have it done in an hour.”

“Excellent; we still need to choose shoes. We shall return.” She waved her hand toward the back. “Go get changed, my dear, we still have things to do.”

\--

“Well, at least that part was simple,” Cullen said. “Thus, I’m sure this next part won’t be.”

“Nonsense, my dear, you just need shoes that complement her gown.”

“Oh, it’s that easy, then?” Cullen laughed.

“Of course! Come along.”

A short walk led them to the shoe shop. 

Cullen looked around, then leaned in. “... how do you tell the difference?”

“Oh, for … “ Vivienne rolled her eyes. “The heels are different! Look at all the different detailing! The toe shapes!” She sighed. “Just find one you like.” Shaking her head, she made her way to the chairs along the wall.

After a good few minutes picking up and setting down shoes, Cullen made his way over to Vivienne. “Your opinion?” He held out the shoe he’d chosen - ivory lace with lavender beading.

“I’m impressed,” Vivienne said. “You found something that both matches and is completely impractical for everyday use.” She smiled. “I was sure that second part would take you longer.”

“Really? This is a good choice?”

“Absolutely. We’re going to have to guess on her size a little, but I believe her feet are just a bit larger than mine.” She took the shoe. “Let’s get this order placed.”

\--

As they made their way out of Val Royeaux - with Cullen’s new outfit snugly wrapped in his pack and his purse quite a bit lighter - Vivienne eyed him and smiled. “Look, Commander, you made it out alive.”

Cullen chuckled. “I was concerned there for awhile. Thank you for your assistance, Vivienne.”

“You are very welcome. Your commitment to choosing something the inquisitor would like, rather than something you would like or something to just get the ordeal over with, is very commendable.”

“I … well ...thank you.”

Vivienne smiled wickedly. “Now, I believe you have a poem to write?”

-3-  
The floor behind Cullen’s desk was covered with balled-up parchment, covered with writing from margin to margin on both sides.

“Andraste’s _ass_!” he swore as he angrily crumpled up yet another piece and flung it over his shoulder.

“Problems, Curly?”

Cullen looked up. “Good afternoon, Varric. Other than having just two weeks left to finish this monumental task? No, not at all.”

“And which monumental task is that?” Varric asked as he pulled a chair up to Cullen's desk.

“Writing a damned _poem_ ,” Cullen growled as he hesitantly wrote a new line on a fresh piece of parchment.

“Ah. Well, I can’t be much help there; poetry isn’t my style unless it’s of the bawdy variety. I am, however, here to present you with a less … girly idea for your present for the inquisitor.”

“Maker’s breath, is _everyone_ going to pitch in on this?”

Varric laughed. “Probably! Just look at it like … we all want you to be happy, so we want to help.”

“Right,” Cullen said very skeptically. “And your suggestion is …?”

“You need to challenge your lady to a game of wicked grace.”

“... that’s it?”

“ _Strip_ wicked grace. Everyone wins!”

Cullen sighed and started writing again. “I’ll take that under advisement.”

“Oh, come on, that always means no!” Varric shook his head. “Well, anyway, if you want to have fun, the suggestion stands.” He grinned, stood, and slid the chair back against the wall. “Never expected to see you this stressed out over a present. Just relax, Curly. She’s gonna like anything you give her, anyway.”

“You think?”

“Of course! She’s got it just as bad for you as you do for her. Just … remember to breathe.” Varric turned for the door. “And take a break from writing and come down to the tavern tonight. Resident writer’s orders.”

Cullen smiled. “Thank you, Varric.”

\--

Not an hour later, Dorian and Bull came charging into his office. “Commander!” Dorian cried, a smile wide on his face.

Cullen raised an eyebrow and set down his quill. “How can I help you?”

“We hear you are collecting presents with which to woo your lady,” he bowed with a flourish, “and we have come to help.”

“I see.”

“See, everyone else is going to give you _boring_ stuff,” Bull said. “Candy, flowers, dinner, blah blah blah. What you need to think about is what happens _after_ all that, and we’re here to teach you this really great rope trick.”

“... rope trick.”

“Right. So, you need a length of rope about this long.” Bull held his arms apart. “And then you take one end, and -”

“I’m just going to stop you right there,” Cullen said, holding up a hand. “I can already see where this is going, and I can assure you that whatever it is you’ve come up with is either something that isn’t going to happen, or is something that you’ve exaggerated to a great degree during a drinking bout in the tavern in a clearly obvious bid to make me uncomfortable.”

“But you didn’t even let us get to the part where we tell you what you do with the knots!” Dorian protested.

“Out!”

Both Dorian and Bull started laughing and made for the door.

“I told you he wouldn’t let us finish. Pay up, Tevinter,” Bull said as they exited.

“Damn you. I’ll win one of these days ….”

-4-  
A day later, a note arrived from Sera.

_“Cookies.  
...bet you thought I was gonna suggest something dirty, didn’t you?”_

Cullen had to admit, he’d been expecting something far more … colorful from Sera.

An hour after that:  
 _“Oh, and a rough shag!”_

“Ah, see, there it is,” he laughed. “Knew she couldn’t hold out forever.”

Later that afternoon, Blackwall came by. “Don’t have much of a suggestion, but I’d feel left out if everyone else stopped in and I didn’t,” he laughed. “So what has everyone suggested so far?”

“Let’s walk. I need to check the trebuchets anyway.”

As they crossed the battlements, Cullen relayed the events of the past few weeks.

“Cookies aren’t the worst idea,” Blackwall said, after considering. “Though to be fair, neither are strip card games or a rough shag.” He laughed. “I don’t know that I’d mess around with any Qunari or Tevinter ‘rope tricks,’ though.”

Cullen chuckled. “My thoughts exactly.”

“It should all be fine. Do you know what she’s getting you?”

“No, but I know it’s something Dagna’s been working on; that girl can’t keep a straight face to save her life.”

Blackwall guffawed. “Except when she’s playing cards! She took at least eight sovereigns off me the other night playing diamondback.”

Cullen nodded solemnly. “Good to know; I’ll steer clear.”

“Anyway, I just figured I’d come up and give you some solidarity, since everyone else seems determined to make your business their business. If you ever need to hide, I have plenty of warm hay in the barn.”

Cullen laughed. “I just may take you up on that.”

\--

Hoping a change of venue would help him, Cullen was seated in the gazebo out in the garden, enjoying the crispness of the late afternoon air. Sitting outside, however, was not working the wonders he’d hoped for, and crumpled paper was stuffed into a bag sitting next to his bench.

“Commander, if I may offer a suggestion?”

Cullen looked up and shrugged at Solas. “Everyone else has,” he laughed. “May as well.”

“Forget the poetry. Just write her a letter.”

“But aren’t - “

“Poems are very nice and all … but if you’re getting too caught up in the technicalities of it, you won’t have anything. Now a letter - a letter written from the places in your heart that you usually only acknowledge in dreams, a letter written with vulnerability and emotion, a letter that says the things you always think but rarely or never say … that will stay with a person forever.”

Cullen considered for a long moment. “Thank you, Solas. That is ... exceedingly helpful, actually.”

Solas bowed. “I wish you luck, Commander.”

\--

He ran into Cole outside the tavern on his way back to his office. “Hello, Cole. How are you?”

“I am … well. Thank you.”

There was a pause.

“She worries you won’t be happy, that it will remind you of demons and blood magic, darkness and pain. All she wants is for you to be happy; you’re the shield against the nightmares.”

“Hmm … thank you?” Cullen said, more than a little mystified. 

“You are welcome,” Cole replied, nodding before he headed into the tavern.

When he got back to his office, Cullen pulled out a new piece of parchment and began to write.


	12. On Gifts of Arms & Armor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rana has a little more luck finding Cullen's Satinalia present on her own.
> 
> Part 2/3 of the Satinalia mini-arc.

-1-  
A month prior to Satinalia, Rana had stumbled upon a complete set of templar armor out in the Western Approach. She’d immediately sent it back to Skyhold along with a sword and shield she’d taken from a fallen red templar, and upon her return had sought out Dagna and Harritt.

“We got your deliveries, Inquisitor. What would you like us to do with these?”

“I’d like to restore it, and have it prepared for display,” she said, picking up the helm and inspecting it. 

“We can polish the armor itself, repair the padding inside, and we’ll likely need to replace the base,” Harritt said. “We have the materials; it will just take time. When do you need this by?”

“I’m going to give it as a Satinalia present,” she said. “I think the commander will like it.”

“Ooh, very nice,” Dagna said. “We can recolor the heraldry, as well; it’s looking a little faded.”

“The stand will be quick work,” Harritt added, “so that won’t be an issue, either. Where are you going to want this delivered, Inquisitor?”

Rana pondered. “Let’s set it up … hmm … in my quarters for now. I think we’re exchanging gifts there; we’ll worry about moving it again if the issue comes up.”

Harritt took the helm out of Rana’s hands. “We’ll get to work right away; come by anytime to see our progress.”

“Thank you very much,” Rana smiled. “I really appreciate this.”

-2-  
“So, Inquisitor … what are you getting Curly for Satinalia?” Varric and Rana were seated at Varric’s table in the main keep a week after Rana’s return from the Western Approach.

“Well …I thought I had a great idea, but lately I’ve been wondering if that’s actually the case.”

“And that idea was …?”

“I asked Harritt and Dagna to restore an armor set and weapons that I’m going to have mounted.”

Varric looked confused. “What’s wrong with that?”

“It’s … templar armor. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but what if it just brings up bad memories?”

“You could always go with the classic fallback - challenge him to strip diamondback and lose on purpose. I bet that would make his day.”

Rana laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“What are you hoping he gets you?”

“Oh, I’d be happy with anything, even if we’re just playing chess and cracking jokes. It’s the thought that counts, right?”

“That’s so sweet it’s making my teeth hurt,” Varric chuckled.

“Well, I better go before I really get to talking then,” Rana said, standing. “See you later, Varric.”

“Take care, Inquisitor.”

-3-  
“Everything’s done except the base,” Harritt said when Rana stopped in two weeks before Satinalia. “But it should be done within the week, and we’ll get everything prepared for the stand and transported to your quarters.”

“Excellent. Thank you so much for working so hard on this,” Rana said as she picked up the shield and inspected it. “As always, you’ve done beautiful work.”

As she left the undercroft, she noticed Josephine and Cassandra in front of Josephine’s office, heads bent over a piece of parchment and made her way over to them. Josephine was consulting the parchment. "All the ingredients should be on the way soon, and-"

Rana coughed. “Good afternoon, ladies. You’re concentrating awfully hard on something.”

“Oh! Inquisitor!” Josephine hurriedly shoved the paper behind her back. “We didn’t see you there!”

Rana raised an eyebrow; decided not to ask. “Can I ask you two a question, in Josephine’s office?”

“Of course, Inquisitor.” Josephine opened the door and beckoned them in. “Please, pull up another chair.”

Cassandra closed the door behind her. “How may we help?”

“I … was wondering if I could get your opinion on what I got Cullen for Satinalia?”

Josephine grinned. “We would _love_ to know what you got him.”

“I had a templar armor set - plus the sword and shield - restored, and I’m having it set up as a display.” She looked down at her hands. “I know it isn’t very functional, and I’m worried it’s just going to remind him of unpleasant things ….” Rana trailed off.

“But?” Cassandra asked.

“But … I thought it would be a good present, because even though he isn’t a templar anymore he clearly took a lot of their teachings to heart, and he served them well for a long time, and I thought that dedication and sacrifice should be honored especially given how he never quit even when any other reasonable person wouldn’t be blamed for doing just that, and maybe he’d like to be reminded of _that_ rather than just all the bad stuff that’s happened and is still happening. I don’t know, did I get everything totally wrong?”

Cassandra shook her head. “I think that’s a beautiful gift.”

Josephine nodded. “I agree.”

"Oh, good." Rana's relief was palpable. "Well, I have some errands to run, ladies; thank you for your reassurance."

-4-  
Rana had decided to relax a bit and not worry about Satinalia for at least a little while; she heard Bull’s voice as soon as she entered the tavern.

"Boss! Get a drink and join us!"

Rana had no idea who "us" was, but she picked up an ale at the bar and made her way through the crowd to Bull.

"Oh, it's you and Dorian," she laughed. "Why am I not surprised?"

"Boss, we just tried to give Cullen a Satinalia present idea for you, and he threw us out," Bull said, sounding very aggrieved.

Rana shook her head. "I have at least ten sovereigns that says whatever you suggested was something you _knew_ he wouldn't go for."

"Ha!" Dorian crowed. "Told you you wouldn't get pity out of Rana for that. Pay up, qunari."

"Thanks, boss," Bull muttered as he threw a coin purse at Dorian.

“Hey, don’t blame me; you know what you did,” she laughed. “And was that a Tevinter symbol on that purse?”

“Yes, because _I_ lost it when _your_ boyfriend wouldn’t even let us _finish_ our suggestion,” Dorian huffed. “So rude!”

Rana tried - and failed - to smother a chuckle. “Of course he didn’t! You two went up there with the world’s worst suggestion; you can’t act all surprised and hurt that he wasn’t interested.” She finished her ale and stood. “Dorian, you owe me a drink for getting your money back. Bull, stop pouting; it’s not cute and you know it.” She grinned. “I’ll see you gentlemen later.”

As she left the tavern, she decided to go visit Cullen. When she got to his office, a sentry was standing outside his closed door; she bowed as Rana approached.

“Your Worship.”

“Hello … Genevieve, yes?”

The sentry grinned. “Yes, your Worship.”

“Oh, good. I’m glad I got it right,” Rana smiled. “Is the commander in a meeting or something?”

“No, he’s just … uh … he said he didn’t want to be disturbed,” she stammered. “Let me tell him you’re here.” She opened the door just wide enough to slip inside, and closed it behind her.

A moment later, both Genevieve and Cullen came out; he pulled the door closed behind him and smiled. “Inquisitor. Walk with me?”

“Of course.”

As they crossed the battlements, she eyed him. “So … why can’t I come in your office?”

“Oh! Well … um … I … you don’t want to spoil your Satinalia present, do you?”

Rana grinned. “Maybe?”

Cullen shook his head. “Somehow, I knew you’d say that. But no. No spoiling it.”

“Yes, Commander.” Rana made a face.

He kissed her cheek. “So … what’s Dagna working on?”

“She’s -” Rana stopped abruptly. “Cullen!” she chided, swatting at his arm as he laughed. “You can’t tell me I can’t ruin my surprise and then try to trick information out of me!” 

“Almost worked, too,” he grinned, dodging her next swing.

Rana glared at him. “I’m very hurt that you’d even try such a thing,” she sniffed, folding her arms.

“I’m sure,” he said, taking her hand and planting a kiss on the back of it. “But I think you’ll be okay.”

“And not even a smidgen of an apology!” she lamented.

“Nope!” He laughed. “Come on, let’s go see how your new mage tower is coming along.”

-5-  
Rana and Cole had been walking around Skyhold chatting for the last ten minutes. As they neared the tavern, Cole stopped her.

“He strives for perfection because you are perfect and deserve nothing less.”

Rana briefly considered that anyone who thought she was perfect possibly hit their head on something, but decided that would be rude to say. “Thanks, Cole.”

He smiled briefly. “Goodbye, Inquisitor.”

As she turned toward the main hall, she grimaced. “I still have to write my letter; our gift exchange is tomorrow!”


	13. Satinalia is Love in Action

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rana & Cullen finally get to exchange gifts.
> 
> Part 3/3 of the Satinalia mini-arc.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've taken some liberties with the timeline; this is post-"Perseverance" but before Adamant and Halamshiral, mostly because "Perseverance" is gated behind major plot points for game flow.

-1-  
The week before Satinalia was a flurry of activity at Skyhold: runners returning with packages, continuous food deliveries, decorations made and placed.

Rana and Cullen had decided to exchange gifts early so that the main celebration didn’t lose its focus. Cullen’s gifts from Val Royeaux had arrived and were carefully hidden in the bottom of the trunk in his sleeping quarters. He was reading over his letter one last time before making the final copy when Josephine’s courier arrived.

“Pardon me, Commander, but if you have a few minutes, Ambassador Montilyet would like to speak with you.”

“Thank you, Cara; I’ll be there momentarily.”

The courier bowed and left. Cullen made two more quick changes, then set down his quill and made his way to Josephine’s office. “You wanted to see me?”

Josephine looked up, eyes sparkling. “Yes! So we stayed with the Orlesian menu, but toned it down a little so you two don’t spend all evening making fun of Orlesians. We’ll have everything prepared and set up in her quarters, but this does present the problem of where she’s going to get dressed.”

“Yes, I’d been thinking about that, but I don’t have a solution as of yet,” Cullen said.

“I think I do. I’ll wait for her outside her quarters, and bring her to mine. We’ll have the dress on a stand, and a note left for her to get ready, and then head for her quarters. You, meanwhile, can already be there, have everything set up, and be waiting for her on the landing.”

He thought it through. “That will work. Thank you, Josephine, for all your help with this.”

She grinned. “It’s been my - our - pleasure. I’ll send Cara along presently for your gifts to Rana, so we can get them arranged. Alphonse says that dinner -”

“Alphonse … as in ‘one of my guards’ Alphonse?”

“Yes. Apparently he’s quite the chef in his spare time and offered to cook.” 

Cullen made a mental note to thank him later. "I'm sorry, I interrupted you. What about dinner?"

"Oh, I was just going to say that Alphonse says dinner will be marvelous."

Cullen nodded. “Well, I suppose I ought to get back and get the rest of my end of the affair in order. Is there anything else you require from me?”

“I don’t believe so, Commander. Good luck tonight.” She smiled.

\--

Harritt and Dagna had just brought the rest of the armor upstairs. 

“Okay, the stand is assembled; all we need to do is put it together. And I brought a curtain to put over the whole thing so it’s not just right out in the open.”. 

“Good thinking; let’s get to it,” Harritt said.

A few minutes later, they stepped back and looked at their handiwork.

“We do good work,” Dagna said. “This looks great.”

Harritt nodded in agreement, satisfaction written on his face.

“Now we better get out of here so we don’t get caught,” Dagna laughed. “Come on.”

-2-  
Rana was headed for her quarters that evening when Josephine intercepted her.

“Inquisitor! I must ask you to come with me. It’s _very_ important.”

“But Josephine, I-”

“Come on!”

Rana let Josephine take her hand and lead her away.

“Are these your quarters? They’re very pretty,” Rana said as she looked around the room Josephine had stopped in.

“Thank you, Inquisitor. However, I didn’t bring you up here to admire my bedclothes, no matter how nice they are.” She moved aside the screen in the corner of the room.

Rana turned, her eyes widening at the dress hanging in the corner. “Oh, Josephine, that’s _beautiful_ ,” she breathed. “Did you have that made for Satinalia?”

Josephine just handed her a folded piece of parchment.

“What's this?” Rana asked as she opened it.

_“R,_  
 _I hope you’ll join me for dinner in your quarters this evening._  
 _C”_

Rana looked from the note to the dress to Josephine. “Are … wait. _Wait_. Are you saying _Cullen_ got _this_ ... for _me_?”

Josephine just grinned.

“He did?” She ran her hand down the sleeve. “This is so _exquisite_! I … I’ve never worn anything this … it’s so ….” She flapped her hands ineffectually. “I can’t even describe it. I _love_ it!” Rana grinned. “I’m really just trying not to squeal out loud, if we’re being honest.”

“Well, let’s get you dressed!” Josephine laughed. She removed the dress from the stand and handed it to Rana. “Once you have it on, come out and I’ll lace up the back.”

Rana slipped behind the screen and stripped off her breeches and tunic, hanging them over the top of the screen, then slid the dress over her head. She came out from behind the screen. “Well?” She twirled; the ribbons at her elbows fluttered and the skirt lifted off the floor just a bit.

“Inquisitor, you are a vision of loveliness. I think -”

There was a knock at the door. “Has she tried it on yet?” Cassandra excitedly called from the other side.

Rana laughed. “Come in!”

Cassandra threw open the door, then closed it behind her. “Oh, Inquisitor. That is lovely!”

“Wait … how did you know about this?”

“Oh … well … Josephine mentioned it,” Cassandra said smoothly. “And of course I had to come see for myself.”

“Here, let’s get your shoes on and the back laced up,” Josephine said, “and then you’ll be ready.”

\--

“Wow, Commander, you’re pretty dressed up for patrols,” Grayston said as Cullen emerged from his office, final copy of his letter securely clutched in one hand.

“Oh no, this is the new uniform; I’m modeling it for you. Like it?”

“Commander, the women are going to _adore_ it, but it’s a little skimpy on the armor,” Grayston laughed.

Cullen grinned. “So … I’ll be off-duty tonight.”

Grayston chuckled. “Did that physically hurt to say?”

“Just a little,” Cullen said. “See you later, Grayston.”

“Hopefully not til tomorrow, Commander,” Grayston winked.

-3-  
“Well, well,” Dorian said from where he was leaning against the wall next to Rana’s door, “what have we here? You look almost … rakish, Commander. Almost.” He laughed. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“The couple of drinks I had beforehand helped,” Cullen grinned.

“The only thing a little … off is -” He paused. “May I?”

When Cullen nodded, he ran his fingers through Cullen’s hair, tousling it out of its careful styling, then stepped back and eyed Cullen from head to toe. A quick adjustment to Cullen’s shirt left it a little more open at the top. Dorian nodded with satisfaction, then clapped Cullen on the shoulder. “Have fun … preferably _too_ much fun; it’s really the only way to live.”

Cullen made his way up the stairs and whistled appreciatively at the transformation of Rana’s quarters. A small table and two chairs were set up near the fireplace, the table set with white china from Maker-knows-where. Delicate flickering candles lined the mantle and desk (which also held a plate of cookies and a deck of cards, Cullen noted with some amusement); a light floral scent wafted through the air. He eyed the large covered item standing between the desk and the fireplace, but decided he better not peek at it; he read over his letter one last time before decisively setting it on Rana’s plate.

“Oh, wait ... I’m supposed to be by the stairs. I better get there or I might ruin all their carefully-laid plans.”

\--

Rana knew she was grinning like an idiot, but couldn’t seem to stop. Her dress was warm and fit beautifully; it swished against the floor as she walked and the lace of her shoes peeked out with each step.

Vivienne was headed for the library when Rana passed. “My dear, you look lovely. Absolutely radiant. That plum is a beautiful complement to your eyes.”

“Thank you!” Rana said, practically giddy.

Vivienne smiled. “Have a good evening, darling.”

At the door to her office, Josephine stopped. “I have work to do; you two have fun.”

Rana hesitated for a moment at her door; she took a deep breath, turned the handle, and headed up the stairs. Her foot hovered over a stair as she noticed the other person in the stairwell.

Cullen was leaning rather insouciantly - for him, anyway - against the wall, reading. His tunic was loose and open on the upper torso, though it pulled tighter across his shoulders. The black leather breeches hugged him in _all_ the right places, and the tooled black boots completed the ensemble.

She’d have looked longer if she’d been able to stop herself from whistling.

Cullen looked up with a start when he heard Rana and ended up staring outright at her, standing resplendent in plum velvet on the landing.

“I … you ….”

She smiled nervously. “Do you like it?”

He set his book down on the railing and hurried down the stairs to her side. “I don’t think ‘yes’ adequately covers it,” he said. “Do _you_ like it?”

“It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever had,” she said, then smiled mischievously. “Except maybe for you. Because you look really, _really_ good.” She twiddled the laces on the tunic. “Very … raider-like. Like a raider at a formal dance.”

“Do raiders have formal dances?” he laughed.

“Well, if they did, they’d dress like that,” she said. “For sure. You even did your hair differently!”

He coughed. “Well, Dorian helped me with that part.”

“I am not at all surprised,” she grinned. “The man spends an inordinate amount of time on his hair. It looks good on you.”

He held out his arm. “Shall we, my lady?”

She giggled and took it. “We shall.”

Her mouth fell open as they reached the top of the steps. “You did all this, too?”

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck, looking nervous. “Is it too much? Not enough? Maybe I shouldn’t have-”

She kissed him. “It’s _perfect_. All of this is … I wasn’t expecting all this.”

He laughed. “I have a roomful of terribly horrendous discarded poetry if you want that instead.”

“ _You_ ... were writing _poetry_?” she exclaimed.

“Well, Cassandra said -” He stopped abruptly.

She grinned. "What did Cassandra say?"

"Damn," he sighed. "There went looking like I’m a romantic genius.”

Rana smirked. “How many people helped?”

Cullen made a face and rolled his eyes. “ _Everyone_. Every single person had to come by and offer advice.”

Rana laughed so hard she had to hold onto his arm. “I’m sorry, it’s just … your expression when you said that ... .” She took a deep breath. “Anyway, it’s all amazing, Cullen. I couldn’t have asked for anything better.”

Someone behind them cleared his throat; they both turned. A young man was standing by the railing.

“Commander … are you ready for the wine and appetizer?”

“Oh! Yes, Alphonse.” He turned to Rana. “Your seat, my lady.” He pulled out her chair and bowed.

Rana sat, arranging the folds of her skirt. “Dinner, too? You must have been planning this for _ages_.” She picked up the folded parchment on her plate. “What’s this?”

“Oh.” He suddenly looked extremely nervous. “I, uh ... wrote you a letter.”

She smiled and pulled a piece of folded parchment out of her sleeve. “I wrote you one, too,” she said, handing it to him. “Can I read mine now?”

He nodded.

“Oh, good!” She picked it up and unfolded it.

_“Rana,  
We talk so much about the Inquisition, about work, about missions, that sometimes it feels like this will be the only life we have._

_But … when I think of you, think of us ...I think about looking at a map, deciding where to live. Maybe having a garden and flowerbeds, carefully tended. Visiting with our families and watching our nieces and nephews play in our backyard while our siblings scold us for ‘giving them toy swords at far too young an age’. Likely joining the militia wherever we end up because we both know neither of us could handle a quiet, uneventful life forever._

_No matter where we go, where we end up … as long as I can see you smile, as long as I can make you laugh, I will consider my life complete._

_You are my light in the darkness.  
Cullen”_

Rana held it together until the end, and then the tears finally rolled down her cheeks.

“Oh Maker, I didn’t think it was _that_ bad,” Cullen said in alarm, standing so quickly he almost knocked his chair over and moving to her side. “Rana, I … are you -” He started to reach out to her then stopped, unsure if a hug was what was called for after giving someone a love letter so poorly written that they cried. 

She _did_ knock her chair over as she practically leapt out of it to throw her arms around him. “That was so, so beautiful,” she whispered, her face buried against his neck.

“You … _liked_ it?” he asked, astonished. “But you’re … I thought ....”

“Of course I like it. I _love_ it!” she said, pulling back to look at him. “It is the most romantic thing I’ve ever read. It’s _glorious_.”

“Well,” he said, voice full of relief, “at least you weren’t crying because it was awful.”

She laughed as she wiped tears off her cheeks. “You thought I was crying because it was _bad_?”

He tried to look offended. “Well, what else would I think? It’s not like I’ve handed out love letters often in my life. And templars don’t get classes on how to deal with crying lovers, you know.”

Rana grinned. “Well, for future reference, step one is always ‘give her a hug’.”

“Got it,” he said, pretending to write it down. 

Behind them, Alphonse cleared his throat. 

“Oh, right.” Cullen quickly righted Rana’s chair. “Thank you, Alphonse.”

Alphonse bowed, filled their wine glasses, and set down a platter in the center of the table, along with two smaller saucers. “For your appetizer, you have a selection of our most delicious cheeses and fruits, and a loaf of Skyhold’s best bread.”

Rana smiled. “This all looks delicious, Alphonse. Thank you.”

After he left, she turned to Cullen. “Want your present? Or do you need to have some cheese first? I’ve heard how you Fereldans are about your cheese.”

“Oh, something new - a mage with jokes!” He laughed. “I think I can wait a few minutes; I shouldn’t expire from lack of cheese while I open a present. But I’ll definitely have to have some after that.”

“I’ll be sure to not detain you too long,” Rana snickered, taking his hand and leading him over to the covered object. “I … hope you like it,” she said, suddenly nervous.

He pulled the drape off and tossed it aside, revealing the gleaming set of restored knight-commander armor. “It’s ….”

“I know you weren’t knight-commander for long, but you were a faithful servant to the order and followed the lessons that a lot of others forgot ... and you went through a lot, _and_ you took over Kirkwall’s templars when they needed a leader, so I thought ...well, that you deserved a memento of all the good things you did, something to show that it wasn’t all bad.”

Cullen was silent, eyes shining.

Rana felt the bottom drop out of her stomach. “I was worried it would just bring up bad memories, and if it does then let’s just throw it off the balcony right now, and I’ll light it on fire for good measure, and then I’ll find you something better?”

He still didn’t say anything.

“Maker, I’ve singlehandedly ruined everything,” she said, trying not to cry. “I’m so sorry.”

He didn’t look at her. “That’s not ….” He took a shaky breath. “That’s not it. I’ve spent a long time being ashamed of that part of my life. A long time hating what I did, what I _didn’t_ do, what I became. It didn’t occur to me that …” he swallowed hard, “... that there was anything to be proud of,” he whispered hoarsely. “That you, of all people, think I deserve something celebrating it ….”

“So … you like it?” she asked, twisting her skirt in her hands. “I can’t tell if you like it or if you think I’m an idiot.”

He just nodded, not trusting his voice.

Rana slid an arm around his waist; he slid one around hers and kissed the top of her head. “You know, when I tell this story later, I’m going to have a more stoic, commander-like reaction,” he finally said, chuckling.

She nodded solemnly. “As I recall, you immediately took up the sword and punched a Venatori in the face, right?”

“Exactly. Then I wrote some new training scenarios,” he laughed, “and stood triumphant on the battlements, with all of Skyhold protected just by my fierce gaze and determination.”

Rana giggled. “I’ll agree with whatever story you tell.”

“Good.” He turned them toward the table. “After that, I _definitely_ need some cheese, and we better eat this before Alphonse shows up again and gets after us for not eating. I hear chefs are temperamental.”

-4-  
The cheese and fruit were gone by the time Alphonse showed up to clear off the plates. “The main dish should be ready soon,” he said. “I’ll bring it up as soon as it is.”

Cullen picked up Rana’s letter. “See, we got to talking and now I still have to read this.” He settled back into his chair and opened it.

_“Cullen,  
I love how your hair gets more curly when it’s wet. I love how your brow furrows when you’re concentrating on a report. I love that little sigh of happiness when you finally get around to taking off your armor. I love how you still get tongue-tied around me sometimes. I love how dedicated you are to your men and women. I love how snowflakes will get caught on your lashes, and you don’t notice because you find trebuchets just  that interesting. I love how I smile every time I think of you. I love thinking about us sitting in front of our house in the evening once this is all over, drinking tea and telling increasingly embellished war stories. I love that with you, I can put aside all the terrible things going on and just be me._

_Through the good days and the bad, through whatever comes ... I love you._

_Yours,_  
 _Rana_  
 _PS - this is by no means a comprehensive list, but it was starting to feel a little creepy, like I just follow you around staring at you all day. I promise, that’s not what I do. Well, not every day, anyway. It might have happened a couple of times. You know what, let’s forget I mentioned it, it’s not important.”_

Cullen looked up and smirked. “So … you follow me around watching me.”

“No. Says so right there.” She pointed at the bottom of the parchment.

“But it sure sounds like-”

“Well, I could have re-written it to be more accurate, but I was running out of time.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Rana narrowed her eyes. “I don’t think I particularly like your disbelieving tone, Commander.”

He leapt up, faux contrition all over his face. “My apologies, Inquisitor.” He bowed. “How can I make this up to you?”

She stood and smiled. “Why don’t you go lock my door while I think of something?” 

“Go lock …?” He grinned. “As you command, Inquisitor.”

-5-  
The fire had died down; the candles were more wax puddle than anything. 

Cullen looked up at the canopy of Rana’s bed. “This bed is so gaudy.”

"Isn't it? I love it.” Rana thought for a minute. “Alphonse might be mad we locked his dinner out.”

“Nah. As soon as that doorknob didn’t turn, I guarantee a dozen vultures were all over him,” Cullen laughed.

“Well, at least it didn’t go to waste,” she grinned.

He stretched. “I _am_ kind of hungry now, though. Want to go raid the kitchen with me?”

“Why, Commander!” She affected an overly exaggerated look of shock, then grinned. “How delightfully unprofessional! Let’s do it,” she said, sliding out of bed and whisking her dress off the floor. “You might want to put on pants, though. Not that _I_ mind you running around with no pants, but … you know, other people might.”

\--

They crept out of Rana’s quarters and quickly ran over to the door leading to Josephine’s office.

“Shhh!” Rana slowly opened the door, then pointed down the side stairway. “Come on!” she whispered.

They rounded the corner into the doorway and froze when they saw the three servants sitting at the center table playing cards. One, a shorter girl with brown hair, stood. “Inquisitor! Commander!”

Rana waved her back. “Don’t mind us. We’re just hungry; anything left from tonight’s dinner?”

‘’We made sure to set some aside for you,” she said, beckoning to a side table. “Take what you like.”

“Have you three already eaten?” Cullen asked. “If not, you’re welcome to it.”

“We have, Commander.”

Cullen smiled. “Very well. We’ll see how much of this we can take off your hands.”

Rana and Cullen soon departed the kitchen, both balancing a dish in each hand. When they got back to Rana’s quarters, they laid everything out on the table and inspected it.

“So we have … glazed ham, some cherries in cream, more cheese …” Rana raised an eyebrow at Cullen, who just shrugged, “... and more bread.”

Cullen kissed her, smiling as they broke apart. “Ham sandwiches, cherries, and my favorite company. Couldn’t ask for any better Satinalia gift.”

Rana grinned. “Agreed. Let’s eat!”


	14. Kirkwall War Stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyra Hawke, Cullen, and Rana get together to swap stories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [Ballades](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Ballades) for being an exceptionally awesome (and patient) beta. :D

-1-  
Rana and Hawke were still talking up on the battlements. The wind had died down a little, but the sun was setting and it was rapidly becoming uncomfortably cold, the breeze biting at their faces as orange and purple spilled across the sky.

“So, Lyra, are you heading out tonight, or are you going to wait until tomorrow?”

Hawke considered, running her hands through her short red hair. “I think I’ll wait and leave tomorrow; no point in starting off exhausted.”

“Well then, let me invite you to my quarters for dinner and drinks.” Rana bowed, grinning. “You’re a guest of the Inquisition, after all.”

“It would be my pleasure,” Hawke smiled. “Let’s get down off of here before we freeze in place.”

\--

Rana opened the tavern door; firelight spilled out into the deepening darkness, along with a rush of warm air and the sounds of a boisterous crowd.

Hawke inhaled deeply as the door closed behind them. “Something smells good; now I’m starving!”

They made their way through the crowd over to the bar. “What’s the special tonight, Cabot?” Rana asked as the bartender headed their way.

“Lamb stew. We got a big shipment from one of the farmers down in Redcliffe.”

“Sounds great!” Hawke said. “Let’s get two bowls of that.”

“And can we take a couple pitchers of ale with us?” Rana added. “We’ll be heading up to my quarters.”

“You want me to start you a tab, Inquisitor? I can have Anna bring you refills.”

“Perfect!” Rana pulled a handful of sovereigns out of her pocket and deposited them on the bar top. “That should get us started, and I’ll come in at the end of the night to settle up.”

Cabot swept the coins into his hand, deposited them into the money box, and went to fill their pitchers. A minute later, as he set their bowls and now-full pitchers on the bar, a shout rang out across the tavern. "Hey, Boss! Who's your redhead friend? Tell her to come see me later!”

Rana turned from the bar, pitchers in hand, and saw Krem shaking his head and laughing. She leaned over to Hawke. “So ... that’s the Iron Bull. He really likes redheads.”

“Well, we _are_ pretty great,” Hawke chuckled as she picked up the bowls of stew. “Maybe I’ll go say hello later tonight. It just wouldn’t do to not meet a man with such discerning taste.”

“He _is_ very popular with … a fair number of people, I’ve heard,” Rana mused as they made their way back through the crowd, something of a slow process as she stopped to return greetings to each person who said hello.

Hawke giggled. “Oh, well … I don’t know that anything like _that_ would happen. I can’t be leaving a trail of broken hearts behind me all the time, you know.” She shivered as they stepped into the night air. “Quick, before I freeze in place!”

-2-  
Dinner was gone. Drinks were being steadily consumed. Rana had pulled her couch over by the fire, while Hawke was kicked back in Rana’s desk chair, feet propped up on the mug-covered table sitting between them. Anna had just dropped off another two pitchers of ale, and the fireplace was crackling and warm. 

“So your brother decided to become a templar?” Rana thought for a moment. “That must have been, um ... awkward.”

Hawke sat up and refilled her mug. “Well, you know, family dinners were tense for awhile. You’d think after - oh, you have a visitor.”

Rana turned toward the stairs. “Cullen!” she grinned, standing and crossing the room to his side. 

“Rana … err …” He coughed. “Inquisitor,” he said. “Hawke.”

“Surely you can call me Lyra by now,” Hawke laughed.

“I’m glad you’re here! You should come sit with us,” Rana said, pointing at the couch. 

“Oh, I’m afraid I can’t. I’ve got work to finish,” he said. “I just came to see why you missed our game.”

“Well, why don’t we take that time, reschedule it for _now_ , and you visit with us?” She tugged on his wrist. “Please?”

Cullen made a valiant effort to keep an unamused expression on his face. “Are you ... batting your eyelashes at me?” 

“That depends. Is it working?”

“Bat them faster!” Hawke giggled.

He laughed. “... I suppose I can stay for a few minutes,” he said, sitting down on the couch.

Rana sat down next to him and motioned to the table. “Grab a mug! Now, I understand you and Lyra knew each other in Kirkwall, yes?”

“Yes, we worked together on a few occasions,” he said, pouring a mug full of ale and sitting back.

“Well, don’t sound so enthusiastic about it,” Hawke laughed. “I didn’t think it was _that_ bad.”

“You should tell me about it,” Rana said as she scooted next to him, pulling her legs up onto the couch. “Surely you two have interesting stories.”

He rested a hand on her leg without thinking. “Hawke probably has the monopoly on that,” he laughed. “I spent most of my time in the Gallows.”

Hawke watched the two of them. “You’ve certainly grown more … fond of mages. Or at least, one mage,” she chuckled, laughing outright when Cullen blushed. “Come on, surely you remember our rather intense debate after I found Keran.”

"I never did find out what you did to him to ‘test’ him,” Cullen grumbled.

“Are you still mad we didn’t tell you? Look, if Keran had had had a demon inside him, the demon would have defended itself when Anders attacked.”

“Anders …” Cullen said. “I never did get the chance to tell you, but I’m sorry.” He paused, knowing how inadequate it sounded. “That everything turned out that way, I mean. It shouldn’t have come to that.”

Hawke shrugged and took a drink, eyes suddenly suspiciously bright. “It was bound to happen eventually. Too much screw-turning from Meredith. Too little intervention from Elthina. Outside influence whipping up anger. Corypheus. Kirkwall just being the worst place for him because of how thin the Veil is there.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“And I’m sorry that I didn’t come to my senses sooner. Perhaps if I had ….”

“Don’t blame yourself,” Hawke said quietly. “If there wasn’t anything I could do, I doubt there would have been anything you could have done. But thank you.” She looked at Rana. “So, what do people say about Anders?”

“Well … it really depends on who you ask. And how faithful they are, really. Stories range from ‘brave liberator’ to ‘terrorist,’ something that I’m sure doesn’t surprise you.”

Hawke shook her head. “Nope. I just wish … I don’t know. I wish people had known him like I did. The man who loved playing cards, forever trading quips with the former Tevinter slave, who fed every stray cat in Darktown, who threw himself into everything he did. Who wanted to find a better way but couldn’t, in the end. And that one act overshadowed everything else.” She sighed.

“What happened to him?” Rana asked. “I’ve only heard rumors.”

“Oh.” Hawke studied the fire. “I … well. So we were all in Lowtown when the Chantry exploded, and Meredith told me to deal with Anders. And Anders … he asked me to kill him before he was completely subsumed by Justice - the spirit from the Fade that he’d let take up residence in his body. So … I did.”

“I …” Rana considered her words. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.” 

“No, it’s fine. I think about it every day, anyway. If I could have done something different. If maybe some magister in Tevinter _could_ have helped him. And every day he’s been gone has been less … vital, less alive. Which sounds really dramatic, and I clearly shouldn’t discuss this when I’ve been drinking.”

Rana shook her head. “No, it makes perfect sense. Thank you for telling me. I’ll be sure to correct any misconceptions I hear from now on.”

“I ... thank you. That really means a lot,” Hawke said quietly, then sniffled a bit. “Okay, enough of this - I am not going to spend the rest of the evening a blubbering mess.” She smiled. “Hey, Cullen ... remember when you two got into it right in the middle of the Gallows over Alrik’s ‘Tranquil Solution’?”

Cullen laughed. “Indeed. I thought that one might devolve to some pushing and shoving, honestly.”

“I was a little surprised when you just called him ‘mage’; I’d started to wonder if you’d noticed the staves half my party carried around.”

“Oh, I’d noticed; it was just more advantageous to not do anything about it at the time, and to be fair you’d had my back when I confronted Wilmod.”

“ _Stupidly_ confronted Wilmod _alone_ , you mean,” she corrected, remembering the day they’d found him and Wilmod out on the coast, Cullen with his sword to the recruit’s throat. 

“Yes, that.” He smirked. “The same time you opened with a salvo of sarcasm - something about us branching out from just abusing mages, as I recall. That was certainly a new experience for me, since generally mages know better than to mouth off at random templars.”

Hawke laughed, remembering. “Carver was so mad at me."

"And my hair got singed by a fireball whizzing past my head that day, too," Cullen groused. "I'm still not sure if you missed on purpose." 

Hawke held up her hands. “Hey, that wasn’t me, that was Anders. And he missed you!” She coughed. “On purpose, I promise!”

Cullen raised an eyebrow. "If you say so. Anyway, after awhile I’d accepted that maybe at least you weren’t going to run around in the streets doing blood magic.”

“After you told me all mages ought to be locked up, that is.”

“Now, come on, you saw how many blood mages Kirkwall had. It’s not like I arrived at that conclusion for no reason.”

“To your credit, you’d changed your tune by the end.” She looked at Rana. “Has he told you about how he stood up to his crazed knight-commander, in defense of mages?”

Rana shook her head, trying to rein in obnoxious feelings of hero worship. “No, he hasn’t.” She looked at Cullen. “You did that?”

“Yes, but … Maker’s breath, I have not had nearly enough alcohol for _that_ story. Surely you don’t want to start off with the big finale at the front.” He shook his head. “Varric would be very disappointed in your narrative arc, Hawke.”

“We could start with that time we made you sing bawdy songs in the Hanged Man,” Hawke said innocently.

Rana grinned. “You didn’t!” She sat up excitedly. “You _have_ to tell that one!” 

“Oh, Maker,” Cullen laughed. “I’d forgotten about that. Two hands. You lose two hands of Wicked Grace, and you’re forced to sacrifice your dignity to entertain a bunch of vagabonds and criminals.”

Hawke sat forward, her face lighting up. “So there we all are at our usual table, and in walks Cullen. This must have been … what, a couple of weeks after we’d rescued Keran?”

“Something like that. All I’d wanted to do was relax, have a couple of drinks, and go back to the Gallows. Isabela, however, had different plans.”

“As she usually does,” Hawke laughed. “She sees him and immediately beckons him over-”

“Which Anders was just _thrilled_ about,” Cullen chuckled, finishing his drink and sitting forward to pour another one.

“Oh, he wasn’t so bad then. I think he just glared at you and muttered something about taking all your money,” Hawke laughed. “Wait, Aveline was there that night, I remember that. What was it you two were talking about before we started playing?"

“Swords. Her knowledge of swords is very impressive.”

Hawke snorted with laughter. “I am not in the least bit surprised. Remind me to tell you a story about her sometime. So anyway, once Fenris shows up, the game really gets going … and our esteemed templar here loses-”

“It was close!”

Hawke grinned. “Close, but you still lost. And Isabela goes, ‘I’d feel … sort of bad taking your pay, but I can’t just let you leave - I have a reputation to uphold'.”

“Then a ten minute discussion ensues about what my payment should be, not a bit of which was fit for company outside the Rose.”

“The Rose?” Rana asked.

"The whorehouse in Kirkwall," Hawke giggled. "My friends had a lot of … creative suggestions for the poor knight-captain.”

A large grin crossed Rana’s face. “Like wha-“

“No,” Cullen said with finality.

“Ohhh, come on!” Rana pouted. “You can’t not tell me!”

“So I _shouldn’t_ mention how Isabela wanted you to streak around Lowtown?” Hawke asked, pretending to study her nails.

Rana tried, unsuccessfully, to muffle her surprised squeak of laughter. “I bet that one was popular!”

Hawke smirked. “There were _quite_ a few folks pulling for that one. But of course Cullen said no, something about appearances and propriety and blah blah blah ... I don’t know, I quit listening somewhere around the fourth excuse.”

“Well, damn,” Rana muttered, sitting back and looking disappointed.

“You weren’t even there!” Cullen exclaimed. “How can you be disappointed?”

“Because I wanted to hear about you streaking around town!” She shook her head. “A story about you running around naked? Who _wouldn’t_ want to hear about that?” She gently pushed his mug toward him. “Drink up, sweetie.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, moving the mug out of her reach. “You’re plotting something.”

“Me? Never!” 

“I’m sure she’s just trying to make sure you have fun, Cullen,” Hawke chimed in. “Stop being so suspicious.”

Cullen ignored this and looked at Rana. “Just for future reference, if Hawke vouches for you I just assume you’re up to no good.”

Hawke gasped. “Cullen! That’s hurtful!” She winked.

“Oh, please,” he scoffed. “If I haven’t hurt your feelings by now, I doubt there’s much I could do.”

“True!” she laughed. “We couldn’t get him to go streaking, but we finally convinced him to stand on a table and sing a Fereldan tavern song.”

"Much to the disappointment of some of the patrons," Cullen chuckled. “And can we talk about how many filthy songs Anders knew? It really was impressive.”

“You gave that song about Andraste’s knickerweasels the gravitas it really deserved,” Hawke said, laughing. “Though you had quite the hard time getting on the table by that point.” She looked at Rana. “It doesn’t take him many.”

“Good to know!” Rana pantomimed writing it down. “So he fell off the table?”

“No, but he would have if Fenris hadn’t caught him and boosted him back up. He -”

“You know, I remember this _very_ differently,” Cullen said.

“Really? I must admit I’m surprised you remember it at all.” Hawke smirked. “Your rendition really was quite charming, though ... even with all the slurred words.”

“I do try,” Cullen chuckled. “You know what I never got the chance to ask you about? Duke Prosper. The stories -”

“Wait just a minute!” Rana interrupted. “You can’t just stop telling the story there!”

“But it’s done,” he said. “I lost, sang the song, the end.” He looked over at Hawke. “And what are you grinning about?”

“I think your beloved here wants you to sing her a song,” Hawke said.

Cullen looked back at Rana, who was nodding enthusiastically. He shook his head. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Awww, please?”

He set his mug on the table and folded his arms. “No.”

“I bet she’d make it up to you later.” Hawke laughed, waggling her eyebrows.

Rana nodded enthusiastically. “I would!”

“There isn’t anything you could do that would make up for going through _that_ again,” Cullen said.

Rana leaned over and whispered in Cullen’s ear for a moment. Hawke guffawed as a red flush crept across Cullen’s cheeks. 

“Well, I stand corrected, as _that_ might,” he said, grinning. “All right, all right. I know when I’m beat.” He downed his ale and cleared his throat.

Rana shook her head. 

“What?”

“Excuse me, but I don’t think you sang it sitting on a plush couch,” she said seriously.

“You’re right,” he agreed. “I sang it in a dive bar that smelled of old cheese and desperation.”

“Be that as it may,” she said, unmoved, “you should at _least_ get on my desk.”

Hawke didn’t even try to hide her laugh. “At least wait until I’m gone, you two!”

Cullen rolled his eyes and stood, swaying slightly. “Maybe finishing that one all in one go was a bad idea.”

“Or a _great_ one,” Rana corrected. “Now go sing!”

“I find it unfair I have to get up on your desk wearing armor,” he said. “I think I can sing it just fine - ”

Rana laid a finger across his lips, cutting him off. She pulled his mantle up and off, tossing it to the side. Her hands flew across straps and buckles, neatly depositing his breastplate, pauldrons, couters, and vambraces in a pile next to the couch. “There you go!”

Hawke whistled appreciatively. “What a helper, Cullen!” She looked at Rana. “He certainly isn’t hard on the eyes.”

“Indeed he isn’t,” Rana nodded, grinning as Cullen tried to glare at both of them. She smiled at him. “Now now, don’t be grumpy,” Rana said, cupping his face with her hands and kissing him. “Go sing me a song.”

Rana settled back into her seat as Cullen made his way over to the desk, wincing as a stack of books toppled when his hand slipped. He finally stood, a triumphant look on his face. “That was a little more difficult than I anticipated.” He took a deep breath.

_“Ohhhhhhhhhh_  
 _Andraste’s knickerweasels are rowdy little beasts,_  
 _Clawing, biting, squeaking, fighting,_  
 _Running 'round like they’re greased ….”_

As Cullen finished, he bowed as Rana and Hawke burst into raucous applause. “Thank you, thank you.” He jumped off the desk, momentarily losing his footing and stumbling but regaining it before he crashed into the wall. “Are you ladies satisfied?”

“Quite!” Hawke said, still chuckling. “Even though Rana spilled some of her ale laughing.”

“Well … it would have been better if you were naked,” Rana grinned as she refilled her mug. “But in a pinch, it’ll do.”

“Slave driver,” he muttered. “Anyway, as I was attempting to ask you before you all insisted on a musical performance, you have to tell us what happened at Duke Prosper’s estate, Hawke. The stories we heard were just outlandish.”

“Oh, you know. Killed a wyvern, crashed a very _Orlesian_ party, got captured, broke out, dropped an Orlesian noble off the side of a keep. The usual.”

“So even _more_ outlandish than the rumors we heard.” He poured himself another drink. “A wyvern, you say?”

\--

“... why he was surprised that I wouldn’t let him live after I killed Baron What’s-His-Name is beyond me, but he certainly was shocked that he got tossed over the side.”

“Your ability to end up in the middle of every single situation in Kirkwall was truly astounding,” Cullen said.

“Frankly, I’d have preferred a few days off,” Hawke laughed. “But between the mages, the templars, the elves, and the street gangs, I was running back and forth all over the place. Oh, and the knight-captain all but begging me to clear Aveline’s name so he didn’t have to be captain of the guard.”

“I didn’t even remotely beg, thank you very much,” Cullen countered, pouring another drink. “As I recall, sending you that note instead of just removing her was quite the courtesy.”

“She was so angry, especially because she’d worked so hard to clean up the guard after Jeven’s betrayal.”

“No surprise it turned out to be him, really. Disappointing that his anti-Ferelden nonsense worked six years after you’d arrived, though. Well, on everyone but the guard. It was heartening to hear how they all stood by her. She’s probably one of the best guard captains Kirkwall’s ever had.”

“Agreed. She loves that job. Do you two stay in touch?"

Cullen nodded. "We exchange letters from time to time. She keeps me informed on any moves Sebastian makes regarding his threat to take over Kirkwall. I'm not going to sit on my hands if he tries something."

Hawke looked concerned. "You think he'd really do something like that?"

"He was pretty angry after you practically punched him down the stairs, I'm told," Cullen laughed.

"Guess he should have kept his dumb mouth shut after Anders died," Hawke scowled. “But enough about that … that … _nug-licker_. I've been wondering about something for quite some time, Cullen, and now I mean to get an answer out of you.”

Rana raised an eyebrow. “This ought to be interesting.” She looked at Cullen and leaned over. “What did you do?” she asked in a loud stage whisper.

Cullen shrugged. “I have no idea," he stage-whispered back.

Hawke glared at him. “I warned you about Anders, remember? After I knew he was planning, well, _something_. And you didn’t do anything about it.” Her lips were pressed into a thin line.

“We _did_ do something about it; I told you we’d raided the clinic, and found nothing. That he’d gone to ground somewhere.”

“I know you knew where he was. You _had_ to know!” A note of anguish crept into her voice. “Why didn’t you _do_ anything?”

Cullen looked puzzled. “Did you _want_ me to arrest him and throw him in the Gallows?”

“No!” Hawke snapped. “I just want to know _why_.”

He shrugged. “I’d heard the rumors about Meredith by then. I even told you as much … that I could understand where they came from. She wanted to kill that idiot Emile just for running off to the Hanged Man. Anders … she’d have made it her personal goal to break him.” Cullen shook his head, looking uneasy just thinking about the possibility. “Especially after what happened with Karl Thekla.”

Hawke looked suddenly thoughtful. “Now that you mention it, we never heard anything more about that, either.”

“She was a little more … reasonable, then. I pointed out that we didn’t really have enough evidence to tie Anders to what happened, and that if we moved on him, we’d have a Fereldan revolt on our hands. She dropped it that time, but Anders … she _hated_ that he’d gotten away.” 

“I see.” 

“So if I’d heeded your warning, he would have ended up in the Gallows, and we both know how well that would have worked out.” He paused. “Just being there would have been … disastrous. I thought it was better that you were watching out for him.”

When Hawke spoke again, her voice was low. “Did you know what he was?”

Cullen studied her, debating how much he wanted to reveal. “We … received a note about it, yes.”

Hawke’s eyes widened. “But she-”

“It never reached Meredith.”

Hawke narrowed her eyes. “Who sent it?”

“It wasn’t signed.” Cullen shrugged.

Hawke wasn’t about to let it go. “Who delivered it?”

Cullen folded his arms. “I’m not telling you anything else about it.”

Hawke glared at him. He shook his head. 

“Fine.” Suddenly Hawke grinned. “So … still hear from Macha?”

Cullen laughed. “Now and again. But nothing like you’re thinking.”

“Oh? What happened? I’d heard you two were dating.”

“Nothing really ever happened between us, you know.” Cullen shook his head. “No matter what Varric says.”

Hawke shrugged. “To be fair, most things don’t happen like Varric says.”

“Wait,” Rana interjected. “You write to Aveline … and you write to this Macha person -”

“The sister of one of my templar recruits in Kirkwall.”

“- and you don’t write to your own _sister_? I bet she’d be very interested to find that out.” Rana looked at him from over the rim of her mug as she took a drink, eyebrow raised.

Cullen, very briefly, looked somewhat panicked. “Don’t tell her that, Rana.”

Rana smiled sweetly. “Well, you better write her soon, then.”

Hawke laughed. “Wow, Cullen. And I thought Meredith was tough.”

“I don't know how this ended up being about me and my letter-writing habits.” Cullen sighed and poured another drink. “I’ll write to her tomorrow. Now can we change the subject?"

Rana sat up. “Actually, yes. Lyra, I was wondering … and if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine, I totally get it ...but can you tell me about Corypheus? What did you see? What did you find out?”

“The Grey Warden prison was interesting, though a lot of my attention was taken by Anders -”

Disbelief was written all over Cullen’s face. “Wait. You took Anders - a possessed Grey Warden mage - with you to find Corypheus, a _darkspawn_?” 

Hawke glared at Cullen. “Yeah, I took him with me because I didn’t think he’d be safe enough in Kirkwall by himself, what with templars nosing around my property all the time and Meredith so far up my ass I may as well have been a hat.”

He held up his hands in surrender. “I concede the point; I’m sorry.”

“ _Thank_ you. Anyway, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, Anders kind of monopolized my attention, so I didn’t get to study the prison as much as I would have liked to. And it was pretty slow going, so that didn’t help, either.”

“But you talked to him, right?” Rana was sitting forward on the couch, listening attentively.

Hawke nodded. “And he really seemed to think he was one of the magisters, a priest of Dumat. And then we killed his ass, so I’m really not sure why in blazes he’s back. It really irritates me, if we’re being honest.”

Rana was quiet for a long moment, clearly ambivalent about what she wanted to say. “Was … _is_ he what he says he is?”

“It certainly seemed that way to us when we saw him.” Hawke pulled her pendant out of her shirt and off over her head, then handed it to Rana. “He was wearing this, and that’s not the latest in Tevinter fashion.”

“Wow,” Rana said as she inspected the ancient amulet, turning it over in her hands. "You should show that to Dorian; he could probably tell you more about it." She handed it back. “Then, if he is what he says he is … maybe what he said in Haven is true, and ….” She sat back, looking visibly troubled. “I don’t know. I have a lot of issues with the Chantry, which is likely unsurprising.”

Hawke nodded. “I definitely understand that.”

“I just think what I believe or don’t believe really doesn’t matter when all this other stuff needs to be done - not that a lot of other people seem to agree with that,” she sighed. “But … I don’t think Andraste would really like what’s been done in her name, I guess. And maybe what’s ‘true’ doesn’t matter; it’s what you believe in and how you use that belief that matters."

“Makes sense. But yeah, that’s basically everything I know about Corypheus. He shouldn’t be here … not that that really matters now, since he is.” Hawke poured herself another drink, watching the fire for a long moment. “Okay, now we get to tell the fun story, right?”

Cullen sighed and rolled his eyes. “Why don’t you tell it, since you’re so excited about it? I was just doing my duty.”

Hawke took a drink and set her ale on the table, then stood up, clearly ready to get into telling the story. “So there we are, all in the Gallows - me, Carver, Fenris, and Isabela. We’ve had to fight from one side of Kirkwall to the other, dealing with blood mages, abominations, overzealous templars, _everything_ , right?” she said, pantomiming firing off spells. “And we get a brief reprieve on our boat ride to the Gallows, but mages have blockaded the templars’ wing, we have to fight through them, and then we finally get to Meredith … who, of course, had no plans to actually work with me. She just wanted someone to do all her dirty work.”

“That’s not … necessarily true,” Cullen muttered.

Hawke put her hands on her hips and raised an eyebrow.

“All right, she was planning on arresting you from the beginning. At least, that’s all she told _us_ she was going to do to you.”

“Right. So anyway, there she is, clearly very tired of me.” Hawke jumped opposite where she’d been a moment ago and glared at where she’d just been standing. “And then, while she’s there glaring at me, these three mages are escorted up to us. They haven’t used blood magic, they’re turning themselves in, what would you do with them?”

“They haven’t done anything wrong, so nothing should _have_ to be done with them,” Rana said.

“Ah, but you’re forgetting, this is Meredith we’re dealing with here. She immediately decrees that we should kill them, ‘just in case.’ At this point, I’m starting to question my allegiance with the templars, so I ask the knight-captain what he thinks.” She looked at Cullen expectantly. “And he said …?”

“You’re determined to drag me into this, aren’t you?”

Hawke laughed. “No, but that was the look on your face at the time.”

“You know what I-”

“I know, I know!” Hawke waved him off. “No, he rightly pointed out that because they surrendered, they should be taken into custody. Meredith, of course, reacted reasonably and agreed that that was what templars did.”

Rana snorted. “I’m sure!”

Hawke laughed. “Yeah, no, she went off the deep end. But Cullen told the templars to protect the mages … and on the word of another mage ….” She sobered. “And it really was a big deal to me. I’ll joke all day about how we didn’t see eye to eye about ….”

“Anything concerning magic, or mages, or you, or your companions,” Cullen interjected.

“That,” Hawke said, “but when it counted, when it _really_ mattered … he did the right thing.” She coughed. “So! Meredith freaks out - again - and says she’s going to kill me … and is promptly confronted by two templars.”

Rana grinned. “Carver and Cullen?”

“Indeed!” She laughed. “I still think Carver just wasn’t going to let anyone beat me up but him, but whatever works, right?” Hawke shook her head. “I’m joking! He’s a good guy. And then we defeated Meredith, Kirkwall continued its tradition of questionable decisions by making me viscount, ran me out of town three and a half years later, and … here we are.” She smiled. “So yeah, point of the story is, Cullen does good stuff and probably never, ever mentions it, so I have to pick up the slack ... and besides, that story is pretty awesome because Meredith was so, so angry. It was fun to watch people defy her.” Hawke finished her ale and set the empty mug back on the table. “But I better get to bed; I need to get to Crestwood quickly and plan on heading out as early as possible tomorrow.”

Rana and Cullen both stood. “I’ll be on my way in the next couple of days,” Rana said, “once I’m done rearranging missions so we can get to work on this as soon as possible.”

“It certainly has been an … entertaining evening, Lyra,” Cullen said, extending his hand.

“Hey, you didn’t call me Hawke!” She grinned, shaking his hand. “We’ll have to do this again when this is all over.”

“Definitely,” Cullen said. “Take care … Hawke.” 

Hawke rolled her eyes and laughed.

“I’ll walk you down,” Rana said. She turned to Cullen. “Be right back.”

“I’ll have Grayston bring up the work I need to get done,” he said, smiling.

“Don’t worry about it; I’ll find him since I’m going downstairs anyway.” She kissed his cheek. “Back in a minute.”

\--

As Rana and Hawke exited the keep, Hawke smiled. Faint light glowed from some of the windows; over in the stables a horse whinnied. “Thanks … for tonight. It was fun. I haven’t had much fun in the last four years or so.”

“I’m so sorry. Maybe after we figure out what’s going on with the Wardens and everything, you can come back here.”

Hawke nodded. “I’d like that.” 

“Lyra,” Rana said, “I want you to know … if things had gone differently and Anders had lived, he would have had a safe haven with us.”

“I ….” Hawke looked out over the moonlit courtyard, blinking rapidly. “I can’t even tell you how much that means to me,” she finally said softly. “I’ve thought about him every day since it happened. I’ve wondered what he’d think of the Inquisition. He’d love the cats you have running around Skyhold.” She sighed. “He just wanted mages to have the same freedoms everyone else gets. And that wasn’t going to happen without something drastic.”

Rana nodded. “I know.”

“I still wonder if I made the right decision. If I should have just said ‘to hell with all this’ and taken him away from Kirkwall, instead of killing him.”

“Would Justice have relinquished any hold over him, though,” Rana mused, “after the Chantry there blew up? Because everything everywhere went into upheaval after that.”

Hawke shrugged. “Probably not. But the guilt … I can’t ....” She fell silent. 

Rana impulsively hugged Hawke. “I wish I knew of a way to make things better. Or at least easier.”

“Me, too,” Hawke said fervently, returning the hug. “But I can throw myself into this Grey Warden issue, and at least until things calm down I’ll have something to keep me occupied.” She stepped back and managed a small smile. “I’ll be leaving for Crestwood in the morning; see you in a few days?”

Rana nodded. “Absolutely. I’ll be leaving here in three days, at most.”

“Take care, Rana.”

“And you, Lyra.”


	15. The Shield Against the Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rana's having a hard time dealing with the aftermath of her trip into the Fade; Cullen comes by to try to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, much thanks to [Ballades](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ballades) for being an awesome beta. :)

New guards always asked about the commander’s predilection for walking the battlements at night.  There were the inevitable jokes among the lower ranks about how it was another sign of how overinvolved the commander was with his work.  These jokes were tolerated until they veered toward outright disrespect; the offender quickly found himself thoroughly and forcefully educated.

_“The commander has been through more shit than possibly anyone here, and does more for us than anyone else.  Remember when Thomas needed leave because of a family emergency, so the commander detoured the scout party Thomas was assigned to through his hometown?   Notice how he doesn’t just assign drills, he’s out there with us drilling?  If I catch you disrespecting him again, you’ll be picking up rocks in the Western Approach until the next age, got it?”_

Thus, no one looked twice when he appeared on the battlements, hair disheveled and dark circles under his eyes, pulling his office door closed behind him.  The sharp wind snapped the edges of his coat as he laid his palms flat on the wall of the battlement, heedless of the cold that immediately seeped into them, and tried to calm his frantic mind.

The night sergeant of the guard, Edwin, saluted.  “Long night, Commander?”

Cullen sighed.  “You know it, Edwin.”

The sergeant carefully considered his words.  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

Edwin thought for a moment.  “I’m told the lights are still on in the Inquisitor’s quarters.”

Cullen nodded, torn between being glad he wouldn’t wake her and feeling uneasy that she was still awake at this late hour.  “... thank you, Edwin.”

Rana had been back from Adamant - and the Fade - for a week, and had been increasingly distant, leaving meetings after barely saying a word and taking her meals in her quarters.  She’d passed it off as fatigue, then being busy with Inquisition duties.

Cullen had let it slide at first, understanding perhaps better than most that sometimes people just needed space to decompress and regain their equilibrium.  Rana had canceled their nightly chess game for the fourth night running, however, and he’d planned on stopping by to find out what was going on.

That was six hours ago … and then his damned lyrium addiction had come roaring out of its slumber, leaving him alternately hunched over in his chair cradling his head in his hands and anxiously pacing his office as his mind raced.  He’d finally managed, through sheer force of will, to rein it in enough to actually make his way toward Rana’s quarters.

Cullen talked to each of the guards he passed, inquiring after their health and families, and if they needed anything.  He’d heard, on more than one occasion, people marveling that he was able to keep so many names and faces straight; they didn’t realize it was a way to stay focused on what he needed to do rather than on his mind’s agonized contortions and nightmarishly detailed recollections.   


He rounded the top of the stairs leading to Rana’s quarters and found her sitting on the floor in front of her fireplace with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders.  A bottle of wine was within arm's reach, as yet unopened, and her journal sat open on her far side, the page full of crossed-out paragraphs.  Her hair was a mess, her face was noticeably pale and drawn, her breathing was shallow and anxious. 

“Rana!”  He quickly crossed the room and sank to his knees beside her, silently berating himself for waiting so long to come check on her.     


“I -”  She glanced at him, then  _really_ looked at him - the shaking hands, the hair plastered to his forehead, the haunted look on his face - and laid her hand on his cheek. “This is a bad one, isn’t it?”

“They come and go; this isn’t the worst."  He shrugged, not willing to dwell on his situation when she was clearly having such a difficult time with something.  “What’s been bothering you?  I’ve barely seen you since you got back, and … well, you don’t look so good.”

“Oh, I don’t need to burden you with my problems -” she started, twisting the blanket in her hands.

“You are  _never_ a burden to me,” he said fiercely.  “Never.”

She extended her arm, holding out the blanket.  “Sit with me?”

He took the end, wrapped it around his shoulder, and leaned against her.  Rana took his free hand in hers.  The silence stretched out, filling the room.

“How bad is this one, Cullen?” she finally asked, so quietly that he almost didn’t hear her.

He inwardly cursed his inability to stop the shaking in his hands.  “Pretty bad.”  He took a deep breath and then exhaled slowly.  “But I didn’t come see you to talk about all that.”  Falling silent, he waited to see if she’d open up on her own.  When she didn’t, he nudged her.  “What’s going on?”

She was silent for a long moment.  The only sounds in the room were the crackling of the fireplace and the sharp whistle of wind outside her windows.  Finally, she sighed.  “I can’t sleep because I don’t think I can handle seeing what happened in the Fade again.  With the nightmare demon, with Hawke, with … everything.”

He recalled her mission debriefing - monotone and dispassionate, surprisingly sparse on details given her dedication to ensuring the Inquisition had as much knowledge of their enemies as possible.  “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No ... but maybe … no.”  Rana shook her head, trying to push away the panicky feeling trying to overwhelm her at the idea of talking about the Fade.  “You’re already dealing with your own issues.  Do  _you_ want to talk?”

“I … no, but I’m used to dealing with this.”  He kissed her temple.  “You’re not. And … if you need to talk, it gives me something else to focus on, which would help.”

She sighed.  “Okay.  So, that entire thing …” and then the words were just pouring out of her, “every fear you’ve ever had, every insecurity, every doubt, every time someone’s told you that mages are weak and corruptible in the Fade, everything you think you can push away … it’s all there, whispering in your ear, personified in the beasts you fight, everything, everywhere, you can’t get away from it … and then Lyra asked me ... no,  _begged_ me to leave her behind to distract the demon, and … and I  _left_ her-"  Rana’s voice cracked; she fell silent and watched the flames flicker.   


Cullen waited, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze.   


Rana took a deep breath, exhaled sharply.  "... and I had to tell Varric that Hawke died, so … not only do I remember everything that happened in the Fade, I see how the light in his eyes dims when I tell him about Hawke even though he says he understands, and I can’t handle it, so I don’t sleep until my body-”  Her breath hitched.  “Until my body just shuts down.  I shouldn’t be leading anything, I’m a disaster, I get people killed, and everything just seems to be a bigger mess.”  She dropped her head, shoulders quaking, silent sobs wracking her body.

Cullen put his arm around her waist and pulled her closer; she shifted her body toward his, dropped her end of the blanket and threw her arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder.  Tears dampened his tunic in short order as he let go of the rest of the blanket to run his fingers through her hair.  “You’re not a mess  _or_ a disaster, beloved.  I’d honestly be more concerned if what happened  _didn’t_ bother you.”   


She tightened her hold on him, but didn’t say anything.

He pondered for a moment, trying to choose the right words.  "And the feeling that everything you do seems to make things worse, I certainly understand that, so … at least we understand each other," he finally said.  “That’s supposed to be a good thing, right?”

Rana shrugged.  “Guess so,” she mumbled against his shirt.

“Not to mention, Hawke, well … you met her.  You think she’d let a little thing like the Fade stop her?”

Rana looked up and sniffled, managed a wan laugh.  “No.”  Her face fell again.  “But still, what if-”

Cullen put a finger under her chin and tilted her face up.  “No.”  He kissed her.  “You can’t think about those,” he said softly, brushing tears off her cheeks.  “What’s happened has happened, and can’t be changed.  Dwelling on the what ifs ... that leaves you bitter and angry.”  His voice was full of old regret.  “Believe me, I know.  And I don’t want that for you.”

“I just don’t know how I can even keep up a pretense of being able to lead this,” she muttered, looking down at her hands.   


“Now you listen to me, Rana Trevelyan,” he said sternly.  “You knew being Inquisitor wasn’t going to be easy, but you accepted anyway.  Why?  Because you are strong, and determined, and stubborn beyond all reason.  You know we are all here to support you, just like you support us.”  He turned her face back up to his, his expression softening and his tone far more tender.  “So you help me keep up my public face,” he kissed the right corner of her mouth, “and I’ll help you keep up yours,” and then the left, “and when it gets to be too much, we’ll just sit together by your fire and read, just the two of us.”  He kissed her full on the mouth - gently at first, then deepening as she pulled him against her, clinging to him as though she were drowning.    


When they broke apart, she took his hand in hers, interlacing their fingers.  “I’m glad you came to see me.”  She looked down.  “I don’t think I would have been able to make myself come talk to you about any of this.”

He nodded.  “I know.  I wish I’d come sooner,” he said, still irritated with himself.

“But you came, and that’s all that matters.”  She kissed his cheek.  “Cullen ….” Her voice was uncharacteristically unsure as she trailed off.

“Yes?”

“Will … will you stay with me tonight?”

He smiled.  “You don’t even have to ask.”  He got to his feet and held out his hands.  “Come on, let’s at least go lay in bed.  I’m far too old to sit on the floor all night.”

She took his hands and let him help her to her feet, shaking her head.  “Yes, you’re just  _ancient_ , aren’t you?”   


They stripped down to their smalls in silence and slid into bed.  As they arranged the blankets around them, Rana bit her lip, started to say something, and changed her mind.

He looked over at her.  “What?”

“Nothing,” she said, shaking her head.  “It’s silly.”

Cullen folded his arms and raised an eyebrow.

“I hate when you give me that look,” Rana muttered.  “Will you sing to me?” she asked hesitantly.  “You’re involved in that sing-quisition thing, aren’t you?”

He sighed mightily and rolled his eyes. “That  _name_ . I can’t believe we can’t come up with a better name more befitting what it is we’re doing.”   
  
She nudged him, something close to a real smile touching her lips.  “Ah, see, there’s the Cullen I know - mission-focused even when it involves singing tavern songs to boost morale.”

“Hush, you,” he scolded, kissing her cheek.  “Do you have something in particular you want to hear?”

She shook her head.  “Surprise me.”

He thought for a moment.  “All right, I have one.  Come here.”  He opened his arms; she scooted over, pressing her body up against his, sliding one arm under his back and throwing the other across his stomach, then resting her head on his chest.  He wrapped his arm around her shoulders.  “Comfortable?”

She inhaled deeply, breathing in the mingled scents that always clung to his skin - sweat and leather, the outdoors and the faintest hint of the soap he preferred.  “Mm-hmm.”

“Good.”

She closed her eyes ... and immediately opened them again, unable to ignore the feeling of panic building in her chest at the thought of sleeping.  

Cullen felt her tense up and looked down at her, worry creasing his forehead.  "Rana?"

"I just ..."

He pulled her closer.  "Just let go.  I'm here."

“If I fall asleep and things get … bad,” she whispered, her voice tight, “will you wake me?”   


“Of course I will,” he said, relief washing over him as she relaxed just a little.  He cleared his throat.

_“Once we were_   
_In our peace_   
_With our lives assured._

_Once we were_  
 _Not afraid of the dark …”_  
  



	16. Letters: Exalted Plains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rana's letters to Cullen sent back from the Exalted Plains.

-1-  
C,

This place gives me the creeps. It’s too quiet, too desolate. The wind practically howls across the plains. The plaques are everywhere, the ones commemorating the “triumph” over the elves. I know we don’t see eye to eye on matters of faith in general, but surely we agree that’s in poor taste? I don’t know, this whole thing is just a complicated mess. It’s very sobering, actually - it reminds me to keep our original goals in mind, treat everyone equally, and keep my moral compass firmly fixed.

But enough of that. We liberated the western ramparts from undead; that fight was _fun_! Poor Cass, she barely got a chance to hit anyone what with all the magic flying around. I got frozen by Vivienne once, but Dorian was kind enough to thaw me right out with that misplaced fire mine, so no harm done.

Well, my watch is almost over; time to sleep and dream of you. I miss you. Don’t work too hard!

R.

\--

C,

We walked through Riel today. So many destroyed homes; I wonder who lived there, what their hopes were, their aspirations, their pasts. And now they’re all gone. 

This is part of why I’m always excited when we find a rift - those don’t leave me time to stand around being melancholy. A damn terror knocked me on my ass today; caught him in my fire mine but I really banged my tailbone on a rock. It’s just ridiculous: we get attacked by demons and I’m staggering around in pain tonight because I _fell down_.

I’m exhausted today. Lots of walking, lots of fighting. But we found a great campsite; I think I’m going to make this one a forward camp.

Ahem, time for some Official Inquisitor Business. We need to get an access point cleared, so if you can divert some resources this way that would be fantastic. I’ll leave information at both the camps.

Time for bed; I love you!

R.  
 _[under this are numerous comically exaggerated sketches of zombies and undead, with a very angry rage demon in the back shaking a fist and scowling]_

-2-  
C,

Business out of the way first. I’ve sent your crew to repair a bridge. They did a fantastic job clearing the entrance to the fens; I can’t wait to explore them! We already had to fight wyverns before we could set up the camp, so this is _definitely_ going to be a good time.

Hope Vivienne is enjoying the break; she was feeling under the weather last week, so I thought it best she come home to recuperate. Also, Bull says hello. Well … that’s a little less colorful than how he phrased it, but that’s what he meant.

We’ve found some fascinating glyphs; I’m excited to send them back for study once we’ve found all of them. We’ve also found some ruins, and tomorrow we’re going to scout up the river. I know this one is short, but Dorian is sending a message back and I’m just going to attach mine with his. Must go; love you.

R.  
 _[under this is a sketch of the river and surrounding trees and some quick doodles of the glyphs they’ve already found]_

 _[below the drawings, in a different hand]_  
PS - Do be sure to ask Rana about _how_ she discovered the river. If the story doesn’t include a sudden disappearance, a splash, and a full minute of swearing, she’s lying; don’t let her get away with that. She just gets so enthusiastic about exploring that she forgets to watch where she’s going. Sometimes I think she’s doing it on purpose to test how quickly I can cast a barrier, if we’re being honest. Now that I think of it, this overabundance of enthusiasm is how we usually find giants, too. She really ought to work on that.  
~D.

-3-  
C,

I gave the information from the Emerald Knights’ tomb to the Dalish keeper, Hawen. I know we disagreed on that for awhile, too, but … the Dalish have lost so much, I thought they deserved to know the truth, even though it may not have been a truth that they liked. And with the leaders of the Chantry acting the way they are lately, they’d just bury this in an archive somewhere, or use it to vilify the Dalish even more. I’m sorry we weren’t able to come to an accord on this before now, but I hope you can at least understand my course of action.

Good news, though - that was the final push we needed for Keeper Hawen to let one of his clan join the Inquisition. Loranil will be on his way tomorrow; I let him have one more day with his family. 

Speaking of the Dalish, guess who got to help herd halla? Me! If only the First Enchanter could have seen me, running after animals while waving my arms around like I have spiders down my shirt! It was truly a highlight of my life; I don’t know how anything else will ever top it.

In assuredly unrelated news, I have _no_ desire to ever be a rancher. Let’s _not_ do that after this is all over.

Oh! It’s my night to cook; I spent too long writing and now I’m out of time to draw. Love you!

R.

 _[Dorian’s hand]_  
Maker, you should have seen her running after that halla. I thought I was going to be sick I was laughing so hard. Good thing I had my barrier up or that lightning bolt she shot at me would have really hurt.

 _[Another hand]_  
Wait, it’s the boss’s night to cook? Time to go dig out the trail mix. Krem better not have swapped his out for mine again.

-4-  
C,

Bull said he sent my letter back with his; I hope you got it. If not, go see if Krem still has it.

The bridge is done; I sent the platoon back on their original mission. Please let their company commander know what a fantastic - and quick! - job they did.

Not much going on; we finished everything on this side of the river, so we’re taking it easy today. I’m nursing bruises all over the place because I fell down a stupid hill and _someone_ (that would be _Dorian_ , not to name names or anything) was laughing too hard to give me any sort of barrier, that jerk.

The plan is to get into the citadel to rescue Celene’s troops, then make our way to the fens and investigate those last before we head to Dirthamen’s temple; Solas will be meeting us there.

Not much else to add now; I’ll write again when we’re done with the citadel. Love you.

R.  
 _[This page is mostly taken up by a drawing showing the eastern ramparts, overrun by more of the comically exaggerated zombies, being defended by a bunch of Orlesians in ridiculously feathered helms. Over in the corner is a doodle of Dorian with an oversized mustache, look of utter horror on his face, bedecked head to toe in plaidweave.]_

\--

C,

We rescued the troops! Banged my knee all up - fun fact, when a frost spell melts on stone, it’s gonna make the stone slippery. Running and attempting to launch yourself off the stone to reach a ledge is not recommended. And then of course I get lit on fire from some elven trap that the Orlesians, in their infinite wisdom, decided to activate without having the slightest clue about what it would do. Between the magic fire, falling, the demons, and the undead … well, let’s just say that the fens are going to be a vacation compared to this stupid citadel.

I’m sorry this one is short but I am just wiped _out_ ; there were definitely more demons than we were expecting, and at one point it was me and Cass against the rage demon while Bull and Dorian were trying to put down another wave of undead. We worked out a good system, though - Cass smashed them to the ground, I stabbed them with my sword. Enemies always look so _shocked_ when I run them through; it’s one of life’s little joys. Like, BOOM, huge sword, surprise! It’s so fun.

Anyway, I’m going to sleep. I’ll write again when we’re done with the fens. I love you.

R.  
 _[There's the beginning of a drawing here, but not enough to tell what it was supposed to be, and the lines trail off the edge of the paper.]_

\--

C,

Whoo, that was _intense_! There was a dragon in the back corner of the fens; nothing like having one foot in a puddle when a dragon electrifies the water to get you moving in the morning, right? Given that the dragon was immune to the majority of my spells, I decided to just run up front and help Cass out with my spirit blade, and it is incredibly cathartic to swing a huge sword at things! Dorian was really on the ball with his barriers; he hit me with another one right as the dragon swiped me halfway across the fens. Long story short, we killed it, because we’re an amazing dragonslaying team. Hope you’re ready for a month of stories from Bull; he had a great time with this one.

We’re resting until tomorrow, and then making our way to the temple of Dirthamen, and after that we’ll be heading back to Skyhold, so this will be my last letter. I can’t wait to get back and tell you all about the temple. It’s going to be so exciting!

I love you! Fix your roof! (I know you won’t.)

R.  
 _[the bottom of the page has a drawing of a cowering dragon being scolded by Cassandra]_


	17. Proper Tools for the Task at Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rana is heartily enjoying being a melee mage, but Cullen thinks that if you're gonna swing swords at dragons, you ought to wear armor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, much thanks to [Ballades](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ballades) for reading my monster chapters and pointing out my flaws. Any remaining are mine alone.

-1-  
The sun had almost set and the sky was a deep purple except for the lighter haze on the far horizon. Logs crackled in the fireplace. Rana and Cullen were seated at her small table, chess game put on hold when Rana started telling the story of her adventures at the temple of Dirthamen. Her face alight, she blithely jumped from one anecdote to the next. 

“Studying the glyphs was such a great opportunity. And the veilfire, it’s like it whispers to you, and you always find yourself trying to understand what it’s saying,” she said.

The idea of magic _whispering_ to anyone made Cullen feel like someone dumped ice water into his veins; he found himself concentrating hard just to keep his face neutral. “I’m sure the glyphs are very interesting. It’s a good thing you brought Solas with you.”

“They were! I wish you could have been there,” she said. “And then we did this ritual, and fought a demon, and got that,” she continued, pointing to the elegant shield Cullen had been admiring earlier. “But Cass already has that dragon wing shield, and you know Blackwall is really partial to his Warden shield, so I haven’t decided what I’m going to do with it yet.” She thought for a moment. “Wait, you just promoted one of your guys-”

Cullen opened his mouth. She waved him off.

“Don’t tell me! It was ….” Drumming her fingers on the tabletop, she stared out the window, racking her brain. “Lathari!” Rana grinned triumphantly. “Right?”

He nodded, still stuck on how nonchalantly she talked about fighting demons. “She just took over one of our new companies.” 

“Then give her the shield. That’s not a breach of protocol or anything, is it?”

“No. She needs a shield replacement; this is certainly fitting.” He took a deep breath, determined to get his problem out in the open.

Rana, still excited over finding a good home for the shield, didn’t even notice and kept on talking. “Good. And there’s another load of gear in the undercroft for whoever needs something new.” She’d made a point of bringing back all the extra gear she picked up during her explorations, and Cullen distributed it among the troops.

“Just to sum up, though,” Cullen said, not sounding as relaxed as he’d hoped, “you found an ancient elven temple.”

Rana grinned, remembering how she’d skimmed her fingertips over the mosaics and sketched the designs and the figurines scattered throughout the temple. “Yes. The architecture was amazing; I have a bunch of-”

Cullen held up a hand, taking another slow breath. _I just have to word it correctly, and she’ll understand._ “And not only did you go poking around, you went scavenging for body parts _and_ completed a ritual that even our resident elven expert didn’t know anything about.” He looked at her expectantly. _Surely you see how foolhardy that was … right?_

Rana shrugged. “Well, yeah. What was I supposed to do, just leave everything alone?” She shook her head, amused at his lack of adventure. “That’s just silly.” 

He stared at the chessboard and mentally counted to five. “And _then_ you summoned a demon.”

“We killed it, I might add, thank you very much,” she added, folding her arms and mock-glaring at him. When he didn’t look up from the chessboard, her expression grew concerned. “Cullen … are you all right? You’ve been awfully quiet all night, now that I think about it.”

“I ….” He debated just letting it go, but knew it would eat at him all night. Better to get it out in the open and fixed. “No, not really.”

“Is it the demon bit? Because I wouldn’t have summoned it if I didn’t think we could handle it, and we were fine. See, I’m back with mostly no scratches!” She held out her arms. “Well, there are these bruises, but those were from falling off stuff, not from fighting things.” Rana rose and pulled him out of his chair, taking his hand in hers, determined to work through whatever his problem was. “Hey, remember way back in Haven, when you found me sitting outside and we went and talked?”

“Of course,” he replied as they walked out onto the balcony, pulling his hand from hers and crossing to the railing.

She tried to ignore the hurt twinge when he pulled his hand away, and stood next to him. “Remember what you told me?”

Cullen shook his head. “I do, but I really don’t think talking about this is going to help.”

She smiled and nudged him. “If it doesn’t, then we’ll stop.” A thought flitted across her mind. _Why is he being so reticent? Is it that bad?_ She shook her head, but the thought - and the nervous feeling it brought with it - didn’t fully go away.

 _You know it’s not going to help, so why are you determined to bring it up, Cullen?_ “You fought a dragon in the Crow Fens, yes?” he asked, looking out across the snow and ice at nothing in particular.

“Mm-hmm; I put that in my letter, remember? It was the pretty rainbow-colored one; I felt bad about killing it.” Rana shrugged. "It’s not like it’s the first dragon I’ve fought; why is this one a big deal?" 

He stood in silence for a long moment. “You didn’t mention you were right up in the melee.”

Rana laughed. “Is Bull still telling those stories in the tavern? Clearly I need to give him a new project so he has something else to run his mouth about.” She thought for a moment. “And I did tell you, didn’t I? I told you the dragon was immune to all my lightning, so I just used my spirit blade to help Cass.” _Isn’t it better I pull my weight?_ She shrugged. “Besides, it’s easier to keep a barrier on her when I’m right there.”

“But that’s the problem!” he nearly shouted, hands gripping the balcony railing so hard his knuckles were white. _No, don’t yell, that’s only going to make things worse, get a hold of yourself, man._

Rana’s eyebrows shot toward her hairline at his tone. “The problem is … what, exactly? Bull telling stories? Because I don’t think that’s really something I can stop. I think he needs to tell stories like most of us need to breathe air.”

“No,” he growled, then took a deep breath. “Not Bull.” He looked askance at her. “Why would him telling stories be a problem?”

 _We’re finally on the same page_ , she thought, relieved. _Because he knows I’m good at what I do, so that’s not it._ “There isn’t a problem, then, right? Let’s go back in and -”

“There is! It just isn’t Bull.”

Rana sighed. “Then what is it?”

 _How is this something that I have to explain in such great detail?_ “You can’t just go running into combat!” Despite his best efforts, he could _hear_ the tightness in his voice and felt his shoulders tense.

She grinned. “On the contrary, I think you’ll find I’m quite proficient at that.”

“This isn’t - " Cullen stopped and lowered his voice. "This isn’t a joke, Rana!” He pinched the bridge of his nose, willing himself to be calm. _She jokes about everything, it’s not personal, don’t take it personally, just stay on topic._

Her eyes narrowed. _If he’d just get to the point, we could be done with this._ “Maybe you need to get whatever is bothering you off your chest so we can get this cleared up … because it sounds like you think I ought to be sitting in the back being useless.” 

He stared at her, baffled. “You’re a mage! You are _supposed_ to be in the back!”

She folded her arms, feeling her irritation starting to get the best of her. _He thinks I’m useless? Really?_ “Clearly, you don’t know much about how knight-enchanters work.”

“I was unaware one of their abilities was ‘suicide’.” He paced the balcony, trying to wrestle his temper back under control. 

Rana carefully considered her words. “Right now, it seems like you either think I’m too delicate to be fighting, or too incompetent to be fighting. Both of these options make me … well, they make me pretty angry, so either you need to let me know which it is or you need to explain yourself better.”

He threw up his hands in frustration. “It’s not that at all!”

“Then what _is_ it?" Her temper finally got the better of her. _No, my hands are getting hotter, no no no, Rana. Stop that right now._ She inhaled deeply, blew it out. _There, that’s better. Just talk._ "I can’t sit in the back and just lazily chuck lightning bolts at people! I trained in this specialization for a reason, and ignoring it makes it a waste of my time and training!" 

"I understand that, but -"

"And I'm pretty sure it does the Inquisition no credit if the Inquisitor sits around demanding everyone else go into danger while she sits in her lofty tower," she swung her arm wide, gesturing at her quarters, "eating cakes and taking naps!"

"I know!" _How did this devolve to a shouting match?_ he wondered, raking a hand through his hair. "What I'm saying is -"

"I am not a mage of inconsiderable talent, I might add!" she snapped. _Why won't he just listen? All he's doing is arguing with me._ "I did pass my Harrowing, and acquitted myself quite well!" _Okay, Rana, that's enough, don't say what you just thought, that's just going to make things worse._ Then she saw him open his mouth to protest again, and the rest of her restraint evaporated. She clenched her fists, glaring at him. "I thought you said you trusted me. Part of that is trusting me to know my abilities and how to protect myself!"

His eyes widened in shock. "Is that what it is? You think I don't trust you?"

"That's exactly what I think it is," she said, folding her arms. _Don't take everything back just because now he has that kicked puppy expression, he needs to have more faith in me than this._

A heavy silence fell over the balcony as they stared at each other.

"Well ... it isn't!" he finally muttered, throwing his hands up. "Maker, how you even took _that_ from what I was saying is beyond me."

"Then what is it? Just tell me!"

“The problem is .… “ Cullen looked up at the starry sky, heart hammering, knowing that everything he was about to say would be awful but not seeing any other way to make her understand what he felt. “I get all these letters from you, talking about these near-misses and undead and falling off rocks and giants and _dragons_ , and focusing on the mission at hand becomes harder and harder. All I can think about is …” He trailed off, drawing a shaky breath, unable to articulate all the times he sat at his desk holding a letter in a trembling hand and picturing the worst happening, all the times he’d wondered _will this letter be the last letter, was that kiss a month ago the last kiss_. When he spoke again his voice was anguished. “I can’t lose you! You take too many chances and …” A long silence stretched out as he hung his head and looked at his hands, unable to look at her. _Maker, the conversation about the lyrium was easier than this._ “It’s compromising my ability to do my duty.”

Rana’s eyes widened as she felt a panicky fluttering in her chest, all her anger melting away. “What are you saying, Cullen?” She took a tentative step toward him. “Maybe we just need to -”

He turned back to her, closed the distance between them, and kissed her cheek. “I just need some time to think, to … to work through this,” he said quietly. “I’ll talk to you later, all right?”

She nodded mutely, not even turning to watch him leave.

-2-  
Dorian found Rana pretty deep in her cups at a back table in the tavern, all but oblivious to the cheerful noise around her. “And you didn’t even invite me to the party!” He grinned and sat down, then looked more closely at her, noticing her red face and puffy eyes. “What’s wrong?”

Rana shook her head. “Nothing.”

He tsk-tsk’d at her. “Now now, you know enough about me to know that I’m able to instantly recognize someone drinking entirely too much alcohol in an attempt to drown their sorrows.”

“It’s nothing, really,” she mumbled. “Just a bit of an argument.”

“Uh-oh. Has something distressed your templar?” His expression turned serious. “It’s not because of those notes I put on the bottom of your letters, is it?”

“Yes, but - " She stopped. “Wait. What notes?”

“Oh, I just added a couple of humorous postscripts to the letters I sent back for you, because I knew you wouldn’t tell him about the time you fell in the river. Or down the hill.” Dorian smiled innocently.

Rana shook her head. “No, it wasn’t anything about those. And it doesn’t matter anyway, there’s nothing I can do about it.” She swirled her drink in her mug, feigning nonchalance.

Dorian rolled his eyes. “Oh, _please_. You two are _sickeningly_ cute together. It was even worse when you were trying to hide it … something, I might add, that you were both terrible at. I’m pretty sure people knew you were together before you even made it back to the main hall.”

“It was that damn private, he just wouldn’t go away,” Rana growled. “He probably told everyone he ran into.”

Dorian laughed. “Of course he did; it was the most interesting news we’d had in weeks! Who’d have thought, the stoic former templar commander and the sarcastic mage inquisitor!” He paused. “Really, that sounds like a plot from one of Varric’s books, now that I think about it. It would probably be called something astonishingly awful, like ‘Might and Magic: Forbidden Obsession’. Cassandra would love it.” Dorian made a face. “But that’s beside the point. The point is, whatever the problem is, I think you two can work it out.”

“And if the problem basically boils down to ‘you don’t stay out of danger’?”

“Ahhh. Well … you _are_ kind of reckless.”

Rana pouted. 

Dorian shook his head. “Don’t even give me that look, you know you are. But the commander is a practical man, he’ll come around.” He pondered for a moment. “You know he’s like this because you’re probably the first person he’s met and liked who hasn’t either directly or indirectly attempted to kill him, seeing as how he’s gone from Ferelden during the Blight to Kirkwall during the uprising to Ferelden during the breach in the Fade, right? Now that he’s _pretty_ sure you’re not going to turn into an abomination and eat him, he has to get used to dealing with you going into dangerous situations. Just give him a little time.”

“But I’ve been doing that this whole time! Why is it a problem _now_?”

“Longer separation time?” Dorian shrugged. “Maybe the stories this time were just the straw that broke the bronto’s back.”

“I suppose.” Rana looked morosely down into her mug.

Dorian flagged down a barmaid. “Tell you what, I’ll drink with you tonight.” He looked down at the mug-covered table. “Maybe not as much, as I do actually want to get _some_ things accomplished sometime in the next three days, but let’s hang out and tell stories full of outrageous lies so you stop looking like a kicked puppy.”

Rana stuck her tongue out at him, then smiled. “I’d like that.”

\--

“Is there a reason you decided to put your room at the top of eight hundred flights of stairs, Rana?” Dorian was out of breath, due in no small part to Rana half-hanging off of him.

She sniffed haughtily. “I owe you for your little notes, so just to make your life miserable, Dorian,” she mumbled, words slurring together. “That’s why I have all these stairs.”

“Well, it’s working. Wouldn’t be so bad if you hadn’t kicked my ass at that stupid drinking game, whatever it was, but nooooooo, you had to make me drink far more than I planned.”

Rana scoffed. “It’s not even remotely my fault that you lost that game.” She hit the edge of a stair with her foot and stumbled forward. “Can I have a piggy-back ride now?”

“Not the point. And stop tripping on purpose,” Dorian scolded.

Rana looked scandalized. “Whaaaat? I would never!”

“The fact that you giggle and then ask for a piggy-back ride every time you do it kind of gives it away.”

She made a face. “Ooh, look at the super-smart mage, aren’t you clever?”

“I am, actually,” he grinned.” “It’s too bad you have to be hammered to notice.” He threw open her door. “Finally! Can you at least make it to that _hugely_ gaudy bed you have?”

“I’ll be _fiiiiine_ ,” Rana said, weaving her way across the room.

Dorian laughed as she tripped over the rug. “You are such a lightweight. But I’ll keep that our little secret.” He winced as she flopped onto her bed. “Now look, you made it into bed, and I’m going to go find mine, as long as I don’t break my neck on your million stairs.”

“Oh please, just sleep on the couch.” Rana flapped her hand vaguely in the direction of her couch.

“Well ….” He considered the odds of him getting down the stairs without breaking a bone. “All right. But only because you asked so sweetly.” When she didn’t answer, Dorian looked over at the bed. Rana was softly snoring, feet sticking off the edge of the bed. “Asleep already,” he said, chuckling. “You really are a lightweight.” He pulled her boots off, tossed them to the side, and swung her legs up onto the bed. He looked through the teetering stack of books on her desk, pulling out three and stretching out on the couch. “You need better books. Remind me to bring you some.” 

-3-  
The following afternoon, Dorian - still reading the book he’d borrowed from Rana’s quarters - nearly ran into Cullen as they attempted to go through the doorway at the same time, albeit in opposite directions. 

“Oh! Pardon me, Commander.” He took in Cullen’s disheveled appearance and grinned. “Should I ask how things are going?” 

“They’ve been better,” Cullen said ruefully. “I worked far too late last night and fell asleep at my desk.”

“Again.”

Cullen sighed. “Yes. Again.”

“Ooh, what’s this?” Dorian said, pointing at the wrapped bundle in Cullen’s arms.

“Armor. If the inquisitor is going to insist on swinging swords at monsters, she needs more protection.”

Dorian whistled. “That was fast! Didn’t you just argue about that last night?”

Cullen shook his head. “I had it started shortly after Satinalia, but we’ve just had so much going on that it took longer than expected. Luckily for me, Harritt and Dagna finished it just in time to maybe make up for sticking my foot in my mouth last night.”

Dorian smiled and patted Cullen on the shoulder as he walked by. “See, I knew you’d work it out. Told her she was worried for nothing.” 

Cullen made his way up the stairs, getting more nervous with each step. He rounded the top of the staircase to find Rana sitting at her desk, writing slowly with her head propped on her hand. “You don’t look too hungover,” he chuckled.

She looked up and managed a halfhearted smile. “Appearances can be very deceiving.” She set down her quill. “I, uh … wasn’t sure you’d be coming by today, you know … after last night.”

He sighed. “I’m sorry for last night. I just … the idea of losing you … I didn’t handle it well. And it seemed like no matter what I said, I wasn’t explaining myself very well.”

“No. But I didn’t really handle that conversation well either, so I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have said what I did about you not trusting me; that was unfair.” She pointed at the bundle in arms. “What’s that?”

“I … well, I got you a gift,” he said, suddenly feeling tongue-tied.

A real smile lit up her face. “For me? Let’s sit on the bed and open it.” She stood and crossed the room to him. “You look terrible,” she said, running her hands through his hair. “Did you fall asleep at your desk again?”

He just sighed.

“Oh, Cullen.” She took the package out of his hands and set it on the bed. “Well, before I open this, let’s at least get all this armor off of you. That couldn’t have been comfortable.” She started to work on buckles and straps, neatly stacking the pieces next to the couch.

“Is it bad that I’m used to it?” he asked.

“Sleeping at your desk or sleeping in armor?” she chuckled.

“Umm … either one?”

Rana shook her head. “Yes, that’s bad! You shouldn’t be used to sleeping in … ” she said, removing his breastplate and running her hands over his chest. “I mean … hmm … what was I talking about?”

“I’m not exactly sure; I’ve been paying more attention to your hands,” he admitted.

“Oh, well … it wasn’t important. Anyway, here.” She sat on the bed, laying the bundle in her lap and then patting the space next to her. “Come sit on the bed, and let’s see what you brought.” She unwrapped the package after he sat down. “Armor?”

He nodded. “Yes. I thought that since you’re trained as a knight-enchanter, you ought to have more than a leather jacket. Unfortunately, my worrying got the better of me before this got done. Just hearing about you going toe to toe with demons and dragons tied me in knots.” He smiled. “So, consider this an apology for doubting you?” He fidgeted. “I hope you like it.”

Rana picked up the blue silk shirt. “This is just gorgeous. And it complements the actual armor beautifully.” She paused. “But … well. You’re going to laugh at me, but I’ve never put armor on myself.” She grinned. “I’m just good at taking yours off.”

“Indeed you are,” he chuckled. “But I’ll show you how to put all this on. Yours should be easier than mine; it’s not full protection, but it’s more than just a few scraps of cloth and a barrier.” He yawned. “But can we take a nap first? Your extremely Orlesian bed is … really comfortable.”

“Oh, well, if you want to actually _sleep_ in my bed,” she said, disappointed, “I suppose we could.”

He considered for a moment. “Well, I don’t know about you, but with the … right incentive I may be able to stay awake a little longer,” he replied.

“Oh, I have _lots_ of incentives,” she grinned, facing him and sitting on his lap. “You’ll have to tell me which ones you like best.”

-4-  
“Should we wake them up?”

“Oh, Leliana. Just let them sleep. I heard Dorian and Bull talking about how the inquisitor had a rough night last night. We don’t have any incredibly pressing matters, do we?”

“Not that I can think of. If something comes up that requires their attention, then we’ll come get them.”

\--

Rana blinked in the late afternoon sun and yawned, then noticed Cullen, clad in just a pair of breeches, stretched out on her couch reading. “Oh wow, it wasn’t just a good dream this time,” she grinned. She got up and wrapped the sheet around herself, then made her way to the couch and sat down after he sat up and made room for her. “Hi,” she said, kissing his cheek. 

He wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “How did you sleep?”

She yawned. “Well. And you?”

“Better than normal,” he smiled. “Definitely better than at my desk.”

Rana laughed. “I’d hope so!”

He set the book aside. “Did you want to try your armor on?”

“Hmmm, well … I’d rather sit here with you, but I probably should.” She stood. “Let’s do it.”

He handed her the silk shirt. “That goes with your jacket and breeches, so you get all that on while I get everything else ready.”

Rana looked over as she pulled on her breeches, smirking when she noticed he’d completely stopped what he had been doing. “You know, you’re never going to get done if you just sit there watching me change.”

“Maybe not, but watching you change is far more interesting than laying out armor,” he grinned.

Rana finished putting everything on and snapped a salute. “Ready, Commander!”

He stood. “You’ll be able to put on everything yourself, but you’ll get a better fit with the pauldrons and the breastplate if someone helps you.” He picked up the faulds. “These are easy, just buckle the belt.” He held them out to her.

She affected an overly-innocent look. “I don’t know, Commander; I am just a mage. Maybe you should show me,” she said, smiling.

“Oh, I see.” He stepped closer and reached around her, then buckled the belt, kissing her neck as he did so. “Like this.”

“Mmm-hmm,” she murmured distractedly.

“And … ah, the couters are just simple straps,” he said as he slid one up her arm. “Like so.”

“Riiiiiight.”

He slid the other one on. “Are you even paying attention?”

“I am paying a great deal of attention, thank you very much,” she huffed. 

He raised an eyebrow. “To what I’m showing you about your armor?”

“Oh, well … I mean, yes, of course.” She coughed, then adopted a very stern tone. “We are professionals, after all.”

“Now see, the breastplate and backplate are connected here, but you’ll have to fit them more snugly here,” he said, putting the armor on her and cinching it down. “Too tight?”

She took a deep breath and twisted her torso. “No.”

“Last are your vambraces, and I’m making you do those yourself,” he said, holding them out.

“What? Why?” She folded her arms and refused to take them.

“Because you don’t pay me enough to be your squire,” he laughed. “Here.”

She took them from him and made a face. “Fine. Don’t know why I’m even inquisitor if I can’t make the commander of forces put my armor on, though,” she said, winking. “There. So … how do I look?”

“Beautiful.” He coughed. “Also, much more protected. I know you have your barrier but you should be prepared. Speaking of which, if you’re amenable I’d like to give you some training in wielding a sword.”

She shook her head, confused. “... why? I’m using a magic sword.”

“Because you still need to know proper techniques, no matter what kind of a sword it is.”

Rana rolled her eyes. “I feel like if I ask why again, I’m going to get a lecture straight out of templar training, so let’s skip that, pretend you gave me the lecture because I can tell you _desperately_ want to, and I’ll just agree. Sparring ring?”

He hesitated. “I don’t know. It _is_ magic. Perhaps the mage tower? There’s room on the roof.”

She nodded. “When shall we start?”

“I have time now, if you do.”

She smiled. “I always have time for you, and I’m already dressed. Let’s get your armor back on and we’ll go.”

-5-  
The senior enchanter had of course given permission for them to train. As the time had passed, they’d attracted a decent crowd of mages, all lining the wall around the roof. The sound of a sword clanging off metal echoed through the air.

“No! You can’t leave your flank open like that! You're still relying too much on your barrier! If it goes down in a fight - like it just did - and someone takes that opening, you’re dead!” Cullen, sounding entirely too much like an instructor for Rana’s tastes, had barely broken a sweat and had berating her for what felt like hours.

Rana, on the other hand, was pale and soaked to the bone as she cradled her now-throbbing arm and glared at him. “No, they’d just cut my arm.” She waved it at him. “See, you hit my _arm_.”

“I wasn’t going full speed, Inquisitor,” he said, shaking his head. “Had I been, it would have hit your side.”

Rana was irked. “Well, who even says that they’ll try that?”

“I don’t think it’s unreasonable to expect that templars will fight like templars,” he shot back. “And if you want to fight in the melee, then you have to know what to expect. Otherwise, you’d be better off staying in the back with the other mages. And if you think someone else here would be better at training you on how templars fight, by all means, I’ll step aside for them.”

She bit back a snotty retort. “Fine. Again,” she said, shaking her arm one last time and resuming her stance.

He studied her for a moment. “I think maybe we ought to take a -”

“Again, Commander!” Her voice rang out in the cold afternoon air.

Cullen narrowed his eyes. “As you command, Inquisitor.”

-6-  
The training had become a thrice-weekly routine over the last month. “You’ve been doing well,” Cullen said one afternoon as they made their way toward the tower. “I heard Cassandra and Varric talking the other day about your increased martial proficiency.”

Rana smiled, pleased. “They were?”

“She said your fighting style was very familiar, and asked Varric if he knew anything about it. He professed ignorance, but you know how he is with her.”

As they reached the tower, they noticed a crowd of people on the steps.

“What’s going on here?” Rana asked as she walked up.

“We heard you and the commander have been sparring. We want to watch,” a Grey Warden said, to enthusiastic nods from the group around her.

Rana raised an eyebrow. “There’s no way you’ll all fit on the roof.”

“Inquisitor, perhaps it would be best to move today’s training to the sparring ring,” Cullen suggested. “There’s more room there.”

“But you said - “

Cullen shrugged. “They want to watch, and there hasn’t been much by way of diversion lately. It should be fine.”

“If you deem it best, Commander. You’re in charge of the training regimen,” Rana replied, bowing slightly. “Let’s go.”

As they reached the ring, followed by an ever-growing group, Rana leaned in. “I’m going to embarrass myself in front of all these people,” she whispered.

“Nonsense. You’ve been progressing admirably. Just remember what I’ve taught you.”

They entered the ring. Rana smiled. “So, Commander, is this going to be just a sword bout? Or shall we make things interesting?”

“You think you can best me using magic?” Cullen bowed. “You’re welcome to try, Inquisitor.”

“Ugh, there’s that smugness again,” she sniffed.

He grinned, and took a stance opposite her, pulling his shield off his back. “Whenever you’re ready, Inqu-”

Rana threw up a barrier and Fade-walked behind him, her spirit blade swinging out toward him. He turned and parried it easily. “Is that how it’s going to be?” 

She side-stepped his riposte, lightning forming in her hand. 

“Ah-ah, none of that,” he said, easily dispelling it. She glared at him and pressed her sword attack.

\--

“What is going _on_ over here?” Cassandra asked a mage at the back of the sizeable crowd gathered in Skyhold’s courtyard.

“The inquisitor and the commander are sparring,” the mage answered. “They’ve been at it for quite awhile, but the inquisitor refuses to concede the match.”

Cassandra wove her way through the crowd - nodding to Iron Bull and Sera and Blackwall as she saw them amidst the throng of people - until she reached the sparring ring, just in time to see Rana stumble to the ground from a pommel strike and Cullen point his blade at her. They both looked exhausted.

“Do you yield _this_ time?” he asked, hair plastered to his forehead.

Rana, trying to hide how hard she was breathing, narrowed her eyes at him. “... yes, Commander,” she replied through gritted teeth. A mix of cheers and disappointment went up from the crowd, followed by the unmistakeable sound of coin changing hands.

He leaned over and offered a hand to help her up. “You did well. I never did get an opening on your flank, and you managed to hit me with a couple of those lightning strikes and that frost strike. You should have capitalized on that one, though.”

Rana took his hand and stood, brushing at the dirt on her sleeves. “Well, you harped on that flank thing so much that I had to make sure you didn’t get to use that trick, and I would have taken advantage of you being frozen if it hadn’t been a last-ditch effort to get you off of me so I could catch my breath.” She bowed. “Good match, Commander. Our forces are in excellent hands.” Rana extended her hand, smiling.

He took it. “And you are a credit to knight-enchanters, Inquisitor. Thank you for allowing me the privilege of training you. Would you like to continue these training sessions?”

She nodded. “Of course.”

“As you say,” he said, then smiled. “I hope me trouncing you didn’t put you off our nightly game of chess.”

“You won’t get out of losing that easily,” she replied, grinning. “You bring the food.” Rana realized they were still holding hands and rather hurriedly pulled hers back and coughed. “So … yeah. See you tonight.”

As she made her way back toward the steps leading up to Skyhold’s main tower, Cassandra caught up with her. “You know, Inquisitor, I’d noticed that your sword work had an air of familiarity about it.” She paused. “Very ... templar-like, almost. It’s interesting that I asked Varric, and he knew absolutely nothing about it.”

“Well, you know.” Rana coughed. “I was around templars a fair bit at the Circle.”

“I was unaware you’d engaged with swordplay with them, though.”

“Swordplay,” Sera giggled, walking past them. “Only with one, right? _Swoooordplay_ , yeah!”

Rana couldn’t help but laugh even as she felt her face flame bright red.

Cassandra raised an eyebrow. “You know, I never did get a chance to talk to you about that, and I’ve been meaning to since Satinalia.” 

“Oh, are we talking about Cullen and Rana?” Josephine asked, walking up to them. “I haven’t had an old-fashioned gossip session since the last time I was back home; count me in!”

“Me, too,” Leliana said from behind Josephine. “I need to get out of the rookery for a little while or I think Jensen might throw me over the side, and Solas will be very cross if I ruin the paintings in his room.”

\--

The women were all sitting around the fire in Rana’s room.

“Of course, I had a pretty good idea about where things were headed for some time before it became public knowledge,” Leliana said. “We all watched you two make eyes at each other since Haven -”

“Oh, let’s not talk about Haven,” Rana pleaded as everyone laughed. “Maker, some of the things that came out of my mouth!”

“And I’m pretty sure a great number of the soldiers can pinpoint the day you two _finally_ managed to admit how you felt,” Cassandra added.

Rana grumbled something mean about persistent guards under her breath.

Josephine laughed. “It certainly has been a nice break from the complexity of the Game.”

“Well, not everything requires eighty-five intricate steps and the threat of death,” Cassandra said, rolling her eyes. “I can’t believe it took me so long to notice.”

“We had been trying to not flaunt it all over,” Rana said. “But he was cornered by his sergeant of the guard, and Leliana knows everything as soon as it happens - “

“Which is why I’m excellent at my work,” Leliana interjected.

“- so we just figured whoever knows, knows. We weren’t trying to hide it from you on purpose or anything.”

“You must tell us all about it,” Cassandra said as Leliana and Josephine nodded. “The whole story!”

“Well … who can pass up the allure of until-recently-forbidden romance?” Rana grinned. “I wasn’t really _planning_ on this happening, but then we got to talking ... .”

\--

The women were still gossiping when Rana heard familiar footsteps on the stairs. 

“Rana, I …” Cullen trailed off, standing at the top of the stairs holding two bowls of stew. 

“Close your mouth, Commander. You look ridiculous,” Cassandra said. “We were just on our way out ... _weren’t_ we?”

They all stood. “We wouldn’t want to interrupt your … game of chess,” Josephine agreed, a sly smile on her face. 

“You two don’t stay up too late now,” Leliana smirked as the three made their way past Cullen and down the stairs.

“Do I even want to ask what all that was about?” he said, watching them leave and then looking back to Rana.

Rana grinned. “Probably not.”


	18. Someone to Hold Your Broken Pieces Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bad night finally gets the better of Cullen, but Rana's there to help him out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rana sees Grayston and Edwin all the time given how often she talks to Cullen, thus they're on more relaxed terms so they're not "your Worship"-ing her to death.

Rana had been at her desk reading when she’d heard an insistent banging on her door, followed by a short pause, and then someone thundering up her stairs. She’d set her book aside as she gathered warmth around her hand (“just in case,” she’d muttered) and waited.

Grayston had come sprinting around the corner, breathing hard. “ _Maker_ , that’s a _lot_ of stairs. Sorry, Inquisitor, I’m just .…” He’d taken a deep breath, hands on his knees. “But the commander, your Worship, we don’t know what to do for him. He’s told us to just let him be and he’ll handle it, but this one’s a really bad one. Can you come?” 

Rana, out of her chair before he’d finished talking, had barely stopped to grab a cloak before rushing out of her quarters. She quickly outpaced Grayston as they barrelled out of the main keep.

Edwin was pacing in front of Cullen’s office when Rana burst through the far door and sped across the battlement, Grayston hot on her heels. “Your Worship -”

Rana held up a hand to stop him, hoping her voice wouldn’t waver. “You did the right thing. I’ll take care of this; you two go ahead and go back to whatever it was you were doing.” She opened the door, slipped inside, and shut it behind her, hurrying across the room and up the ladder. 

Cullen was deep in the throes of another nightmare, face drawn and pale, shouting unintelligibly at whatever memory had taken over his mind this time, thrashing around like he was trying to escape an ogre. The bedclothes were all on the floor and his pillow had been crumpled and thrown across the room. Rana picked up the blanket, twisting it in her hands as she considered how to approach this. “Sod it,” she muttered, and perched on the edge of the bed. “I’m waking him up.” She reached out and gently tapped his shoulder. “Cullen.”

His head snapped toward her with no sign of recognition, and by the time she realized he was swinging a fist at her there was no time to dodge. Sharp pain shot through her face as he connected; she gasped involuntarily and scrambled off the bed. 

“Ow! Damn!” she swore under her breath, wincing as she gingerly touched her cheek. “Okaaaaaay,” she murmured. “That’s gonna leave a mark. Should have seen that coming, Rana, you idiot.” She cast a barrier over herself and slid fully onto the bed next to him. “Cullen … wake up, it’s me.” She laid a chilled hand across his too-hot forehead. “Come on, wake up, come back to me.”

He inhaled sharply and jolted awake, heart pounding. “What- where ... “ Cullen shook his head and looked over at Rana. Silence stretched out as he tried to blink away whatever it was he had been seeing. “... Rana?” He touched her face, unsure if she was actually there. “Where did you come from?”

“Oh, _thank the Maker_ ,” she whispered fervently. “Cullen, you were having another nightmare. You scared the hell out of Grayston and Edwin." She brushed hair back off his forehead. “Grayston came to get me.”

He peered at her, still trying to shake the fog from his mind. “What happened to your cheek?”

“Poor reflexes, that’s all.” She smiled. “Don’t worry about it.”

He studied her for a minute, and then realization dawned on his face. “ _Maker_ , I didn’t-”

“Don’t even apologize,” she said, shaking her head emphatically. “You didn’t know what you were doing, and I didn’t think my actions through before jumping in to wake you up. I’ll be fine.”

“So Grayston came to get you.” Cullen flopped back down on his pillow. "Nothing like inspiring your men,” he sighed. 

Rana glared at him. “Now hang on a minute. They sent someone because they care about you.” She took his arm. “They didn’t want you to suffer. That _matters_. No one else expects you to be perfect, so _you_ need to stop expecting you to be perfect.”

He thought about arguing the point, then thought about what she said. “You’re right,” he grudgingly conceded.

“Cullen … “ Rana hesitated, surprised to find herself nervous. 

He waited, then nudged her. “Yes?”

She took a deep breath. “Why don’t you come stay in my quarters? I mean, permanently,” she said in a rush. “You said after Satinalia that you sleep better when I’m with you, so why make it harder on yourself?” She fidgeted with the blanket. “I know this is out of the blue, but it makes sense, you know? Right?”

He was quiet for a long moment, mentally running through all the reasons why that was a bad idea. _I have so much work to get done. This is right in the center of Skyhold. I can stand watch when I can't sleep. If something attacks they'll have to get through me to get to you._

“Stop trying to think of excuses to sleep in your office!” she joked as she watched his brows knit together the way they always did when he was overthinking something. "Just be impulsive and say yes."

“I …" He looked at her, her face full of concern, and sighed. "All right. Let me tell Grayston and Edwin to bring their reports there from now on.”

Rana smirked. “You might want to put some pants on first … not that _I_ mind you walking around without pants, but I doubt your sergeants would be as thrilled.” She kissed his cheek. "I'll get some of your stuff together; go talk to them."

Cullen rose, pulled on a pair of breeches, and made his way down the ladder.

A few minutes later, Rana came down with a full pack on her back; Cullen was perched on the edge of the desk. "Okay, I have extra clothes, your soap, your shaving kit, some of your books, and your armor is down here, right?" She set the pack by the door and looked more closely at him, worry creasing her forehead. “I couldn’t tell up there, but you look really haggard,” she fretted. “I wish I’d asked you this sooner."

He waved off her concern. “I’m fine, I just need some sleep.” 

"You're not fine,” Rana scoffed. “You are a stubborn, _stubborn_ man who shouldn't be sitting in his freezing cold room suffering alone." She put her hands on her hips. "Now quit arguing with me or I'll be forced to pull rank."

He yawned. "Low blow, mage."

"You'll be okay, templar." She kissed his cheek. "Now let's pass the word to your guys and go get some sleep." She opened the door. “Come in, sergeants.”

Grayston and Edwin filed in. “Are you all right, Commander?”

Cullen nodded, stifling another yawn. “As well as I can be. But I’m going to be sleeping … “ he trailed off, his reluctance to discuss personal matters getting the better of him.

Rana rolled her eyes. “Oh, Cullen, you’re being ridiculous. Look, sergeants, the commander is going to be sleeping in my quarters from now on.”

There was a slight pause as the two sergeants processed this, a look of disbelief crossing Grayston's face. “You mean, he wasn’t already?”

Rana shot Cullen a look of vindication, which Cullen pretended not to see. “No,” she said. 

Cullen yawned again. “Carry out your duties as normal, sergeants. The only thing changing is where you bring emergencies. Hourly reports can still go on my desk and we’ll do morning turnover here.”

“Yes, Commander.” They saluted and left the office. 

Grayston stopped at the door and turned to Rana. “Thank you, your worship.” He paused. “For taking care of the commander, I mean. He takes care of all of us, sometimes to the point that he forgets to take care of himself.”

Rana nodded. “I know. I'll do my best."

Grayston saluted. "See you later, Inquisitor."

Rana turned back to Cullen, who was nodding off at the desk. “Ready?” She grinned when he didn’t answer. “Cullen!”

He sat up with a start. "What? I’m awake!” He chuckled sheepishly. “Yes." He stood and stretched. "Let's go."

\--

Back in Rana’s quarters, Cullen lay stretched out on the on bed, looking up at the gilt-covered lions and making a face. “Have I told you how ridiculous this bed is?”

Rana had thrown her arms around him and nestled her head on his shoulder. “Every time you’re in it. I’ll repeat what I tell you every time you point it out: I love it. Oh, I left a note in the war room for Leliana and Josephine letting them know we’d be missing the morning meeting. You need your rest.”

He sat up; she did as well. “Rana?”

“Yes?”

“This is … I can’t ….” He sighed. “I can’t find the right words to express my gratitude for this.”

“For me fast-talking you into my bed? No thanks required,” she joked, propping her pillow against the headboard and leaning against it, feeling around between the headboard and the mattress for the book she’d dropped the night before.

“That too,” he smiled. “But the feeling of not _dreading_ sleep, I can’t even describe it. I can barely remember the last time I felt it.” A look of concern crossed his face. “But the nightmares aren’t going to go away, and I don’t want to be continuously interrupting your sleep.”

Abandoning her book search, she sat up again and took his hands. “I would rather have interrupted sleep and know you’re sleeping better, than have the best sleep of my life while you sit there suffering in that room that you refuse to requisition materials to fix.”

“I -”

“Your roof is not the point right now, so don’t even fixate on that,” she scolded. “The point is that when you need me, I will always, _always_ be there for you.”

“Rana … “ he whispered in a choked voice, before giving up on trying to say anything and just pulling her into his arms.

Wrapping her arms around him, she kissed his cheek, then fluffed her pillow. “Ready for bed?” she asked as she settled back.

“Hang on.” He felt around behind the bed, extracting her book and handing it to her. “Here, is this the one you were looking for? I know you’ll be awake longer than I will.”

Rana took it and grinned. “Ooh, thanks!” She beckoned. “Now come on, let’s go to sleep.” As he curled up against her and rested his head on her chest, she ran her fingers through his hair until she felt his breathing slow.


	19. Letter: Rana Ate Something She Shouldn't Have

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rana, out in the Emerald Graves, sends back her customary letter ... but she's not exactly in the right state of mind to send back useful information.

_[Dorian has added a note at the top]_  
Commander, your girl accepted a dare from Bull  & Sera and ate some mystery berries. I wasn’t involved, I swear. But … well, have fun with this letter.  
~D.

 _[Rana’s penmanship is huge and loopy even for her. Letters often trail off the side margins. The ink is smudged in some places]_  
Cullen,  
Have you ever noticed how interesting green is? I wonder if green has a taste. Have you ever wondered that? It sounds Orlesian. “Oh yesssssss, try zis greeeeeeeeeen it is a mahhhhhvelous year all ze rich snooty people like it.”

You know what it isn’t fair? Birds can fly. I tried it, jumped off a rock and flapped my arms and everything and I didn’t fly. If magic is soooooo amazing, why can’t I fly? Stupid birds stole all the flying magic, that’s why. Dumb birds.

My nose feels tingly. Oh! I wonder if that’s some kind of magical ability, like now I can sense … something. We’ll see what we find!

I have been informed by people who hate fun that it is _not_ a magical ability.

You know what’s great? Nugs! Nugs are great. How can you feel bad about yourself when you can look at a nug and go “you poor dumb bastards, look at you. Loooooooooooooook at you,” because you will never be as goofy-looking as a nug? Not that you’re goofy-looking anyway, especially when you bend over to pick up the things I “accidentally” drop, I still can’t believe you haven’t caught onto what I’m doing yet. I better make sure I don’t tell you about that. _[in the margins of this paragraph are a bunch of drawings of butts, courtesy of Sera]_

Hey, why haven’t we had sex on the war table? 

_[Below this is a crude drawing of the war table, labeled “war table’, and two stick figures, helpfully labeled “me” and “you”, on top of the war table]_

_[crammed in under this, from Bull]_  
You haven’t?! Commander, I’m so disappointed in you right now.

I am making an Inquisitatorial declaration (that’s a thing, I’m the Inquisitor and I say so). There are too many steep hills and ledges in the Emerald Graves. Someone needs to fix that. Requisition things and issue reports and glare at people (you should definitely glare at people) and do whatever it is you do and fix that. I’m tired of falling down and everyone else keeps laughing at me. Oh! You could come out and let me ride on your shoulders! That’s even better! You could bring your criminally underused lion hat and we could charge giants and roar at them!

_[Under this is a sketch of this suggestion. Cullen’s mantle is so voluminous you can’t see anything below his eyes. Rana is wearing the lion helm. The giant has a look of sheer terror on its face.]_

See, look at that! That would be so fun! We’re going to do that, right?

 _[Sera has added a note at the bottom]_  
So, she fell asleep on the paper. I saved it before she started dribbling on it, but the ink was still damp in places and she's gonna get to read some of it the next time she checks a mirror. This has been the best trip ever. She didn’t even write down half the shit coming out of her mouth; we’ve been entertained for hours. She acted out you two fighting the giant; that doodle does not do it justice. You missed out, Cully-Wully. 


	20. Halamshiral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rana & Cullen attend the ball at the Winter Palace.

In their room at the inn, helping each other get ready - smoothing sashes, checking the blousing of their jackets, rotating polished buttons so the heraldry on them is all right side up, trimming off stray threads, checking for scuffs on their boots. A question ("Aren't you going to shave that stubble?") and an answer ("What, for _Orlesians_?") and it's such a _Fereldan_ answer that it makes her laugh until she has to sit on their bed holding her stomach while he narrows his eyes at her and mutters something about how "of course a Marcher wouldn't understand.” One last check, a quick dab of perfume for her (he nuzzles her neck and inhales deeply), mutual approval of how fantastic they look, and they're ready, though she's still just a _little_ sorry that she isn't in a ball gown, walking in on the arm of her handsome military escort.

She spends the ten minutes prior to leaving convincing him that “no, we can't just storm the gates no matter how much fun that might be, and everything will be fine and I'll see you inside, and did I mention how dashing you look in that uniform, Commander?” He smiles and pulls her close for “just one more kiss, quickly before Leliana gets cross, I need you close to me one more time before we do this," a lingering kiss before getting into separate carriages, both of them finding this dance of appearances ridiculous but knowing they have to play along whether they want to or not.

She sees him in the foyer as she reaches the top of the stairs and gives him her _real_ smile, the one that crinkles the corners of her eyes and holds promises of laughter and happiness, the one that makes him forget whatever it was he was thinking about before, and he nods back at her and winks; she grins, shaking her head and heading in the opposite direction to eavesdrop on a pair of nobles, and he makes a note to tease her later for putting that extra sway in her hips as she walks away.

Each time they speak in the ballroom, their fingers touch; she wants to tell the simpering, fawning group to go pester someone else because he's _hers_ and hers alone but she doesn't because appearances must be maintained. One time after she comes back from sneaking around somewhere, she slips a note into his hand, and where did she get paper and ink? "You and me, our room, warm fire, good books, your hand in mine," decorated with fancy hearts (labeled "Orleeeeeesian hearts," and he can practically see her whispering it to herself to decide how many e's to add for maximum amusement, giggling as she writes it), and nothing in the world sounds better to him than that; he tucks the note into the pocket of his trousers and when they get home to Skyhold he’ll add it to the small box of things he's saved that reminds him of her.

He sees how her face falls, just for a split second, when he declines her request for a dance, and even though his uniform is uncomfortable (vanity convinced him to have it let out less than he should have, and it's still a little tight across the shoulders) and he doesn't dance, this evening he is as committed to dancing with her as he is to completing the mission, even if it has to wait until they have left Halamshiral and they're back at the inn for the night.

Each time she leaves the ballroom, face alight as it always is when she's getting into mischief, he offers a silent prayer that she'll stay safe, that Andraste will watch over her and guide her - for the Inquisition, of course, but also for him because he _needs_ her, and he's still not sure sometimes how to handle how his love for her seems to set his soul aflame. He knows she doesn't believe - certainly not to the extent he does, if at all - but he is content to have faith enough for them both.

She knows she doesn't _need_ to make one more circle around the ballroom before she sets the endgame in motion, but she _might_ hear something useful and besides, she has to see him just one more time before she goes creeping around. She doesn't have much faith in the Maker or Andraste, but _he_ has never let her down, he is her rock, her foundation; when he says everything will be all right the butterflies in her stomach settle and she can confidently carry out her plan.

He watches her wrap the court around her little finger, watches her turn them against Florianne, watches her step into her leadership role and decide a country's fate with less effort than it takes most people to put on a pair of boots; all he can do is marvel at how well she fulfills her duties as Inquisitor, how suited she is for the role, how beautiful she is with her flashing ice blue eyes.

She's looking out over the garden as the party winds down, and then he's there and then he's bowing and asking her for a dance, and she’s practically lightheaded with happiness because he _remembered_ ; she's in his arms and nothing else matters because she can stop being inquisitor and he can stop being commander and they can just be together.

As they prepare to leave she puts her foot down with Leliana and Josephine because "half the nobles already saw us together anyway so we'll be riding back to the inn together, but thank you for your concern," and tomorrow morning they'll ride out ahead of the group, they both prefer faster mounts and a quicker pace and the exhilaration of really riding.

But tonight things are languid, sitting at a table in the tavern, the crowd ebbing and flowing around them. They eat, and analyze the mission, and debate whether Celene was the right choice, and he finally says "I acquiesce in your decision, Inquisitor," with that smirk she hates a little but loves so much more because it's so quintessentially _him_ , and then they're content to hold hands and sit in silence, enjoying the warmth of the fire.


	21. Tavern Stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is there a better way to spend an evening than sitting in the tavern telling stories? Bull certainly doesn't think so.

[1]  
Cassandra pushed open the door of the tavern and immediately scowled at the wall of sound that assaulted her ears.

"Always here," she muttered to herself, threading her way through the crowd. "Can't we ever just have a quiet drink in the armory or something?"

"Hey, Cassandra's here!" Rana shouted, looking up from her sizable pile of coins and grinning. “Join us!" She patted the empty chair next to her.

" _Please_ join us," Varric pleaded as he shuffled. "Someone else needs to be the inquisitor's victim for awhile."

Bull laughed. "It's okay, Varric, everyone has an off day now and then."

Cassandra raised an eyebrow. “You are all completely drunk, aren’t you?”

“Come now, Seeker,” Dorian scoffed. “It takes far more than this for me to get _completely_ drunk. Give me some credit.”

“Someone has to keep an eye on you and make sure you don’t burn down Skyhold, or something equally foolish,” Cassandra said, sliding into the chair next to Rana. “And deal me in.”

Rana signaled the barmaid. “Keep them coming!”

[2]  
“So there we all are at Caer Oswin,” Bull said to the crowd, “and of course it’s full of fucking cultists, because why not, right?” The tavern was packed, the Wicked Grace game abandoned in favor of telling adventure stories. “So we’re fighting through them, and - Commander!” Bull shouted as Cullen walked in the door. “Come sit with us, we’re telling stories about your lady’s exploits!”

“I’m pretty sure they can hear you in Val Royeaux,” Cullen chuckled. “Let me go take this armor off, and -”

Rana grinned. “You need any help with that?” she shouted, cheeks flushed with alcohol. 

A momentary look of shock crossed his face. “Oh, well, I think I can -”

“But, _Commander_ ,” Rana said mock-seriously, putting extra emphasis on his title, “you said when you gave me your armor lecture that plate requires assistance. Don’t you want my … _assistance_?”

Cassandra just shook her head as Bull laughed and high-fived Rana. 

“Now, Commander, surely you can’t turn _that_ sort of offer down,” Dorian grinned.

“Then it’s settled!” Rana said without waiting for Cullen’s response, setting her drink on the table with only minimal sloshing and making her way over to him. “A round of drinks for all my friends!" She took Cullen's arm. "And you can’t finish this story until I get back, Bull,” she commanded, pointing at him imperiously.

“Better make it a quickie, then,” Bull replied to much hooting and hollering from the crowd.

[3]  
As they got outside, Cullen raised an eyebrow while trying not to laugh. “Can you even make it up the stairs, Rana?”

“You could carry me.” She grinned, leaning on him, and ruffled his hair. “I know at least three _very_ fun ways I could sit on you.”

He shook his head and laughed. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Just the right amount!” Rana pulled on his arm. “Come on. I want to undress you.”

Before Cullen even got his door shut, Rana was pulling his jacket off and unbuckling his armor, dropping pieces on the floor. He jumped as she loosened his breeches and slid her hand into them. “Rana! There’s no armor there!”

She patted his chest with her free hand. “Well, why else would my hand be there, silly?”

“As … ah … interesting as this is,” he said, desperately attempting to hang on to some shred of self-control, “we should probably get back so we …”

Rana shut him up with a kiss and maneuvered him back into his chair. “In a minute." She nipped at his ear. "Or ten. Right now you should just relax and enjoy yourself.”

[4]  
When they walked back in, Bull laughed. “About time! I’d almost run out of other stories!” He took in Rana’s flushed grin and Cullen’s disheveled hair. “And someone get the commander a drink to celebrate the start of his very good evening!”

Rana looked at Cullen, giggling at the expression on his face. “Relax! Seriously, get a drink and -”

A group of soldiers beckoned from a cluster of tables. “Over here, Commander!”

“See? Go.” She gave him a small shove toward the group.

He turned back. “But what about you?”

“I have to go make sure Bull doesn’t lie about me,” she laughed, then kissed him hard. “Go relax with your guys!”

Bull heaved a melodramatic sigh. “Can I tell it _now_ , Boss?”

“Yeah, if you can get it right!” she replied, grabbing a full mug and sitting back down.

“So, as I was saying, there we were at Caer Oswin. Seeker’s busy knocking guys into next month with her shield, and then here comes the fucking boss, jumping off the damn parapet and stabbing the archer with her fucking huge mage sword … cause apparently nobody’s gonna ruin the boss’s delusion that mages are melee fighters.”

“You’re just mad I beat you to him,” Rana retorted.

“Damn right I am! Between you magicking yourself all over the place and Dorian raising them from the dead I feel like I’m just running in circles! We discussed this, remember? I like to hit things. You should let _me_ do that.”

“Tell another one!” someone called.

“Yeah, tell us one about Dorian,” Rana grinned.

Dorian smirked. “Stories about me are not fit for mixed company.”

“Not _that_ kind of story,” Rana laughed. “Ooh, I know, tell them about when were at the Sahrnia quarry.”

“You mean when Bull panicked and tried to kill a spirit?” Dorian chuckled. “Yeah, I like that one. Tell that one!”

“I did not panic. I just wanted all the shit around me to die so we could get done and get out of that red lyrium,” Bull huffed.

“I suppose that startled yell was just a war cry or something, then?” 

“Damn straight it was!” Bull shot back. “You should have been terrified.”

“I’ll be sure to pretend I am next time.” Dorian smiled sweetly as the room burst into laughter.

“Tell them about the giant,” Cassandra suggested. “That one was fun.”

“I remember that one,” Dorian said. “That was the one where our valiant seeker charged off to fight the giant while the rest of us were standing around doing ….” He trailed off. “Wait, what were we doing again?”

Bull snorted. “Watching the boss pick flowers. _Again_ ,” he said, rolling his eyes.

Rana gasped. “That elfroot is important!” 

“More important than fighting giants? I think not, Boss.”

A wicked grin crossed her face. "We need the elfroot when the dragon tail-swipes you ... again." The crowd roared with laughter as Bull made a face. Rana held up her hands for quiet. “Anyway! So I’m _gathering important herbs_ , and Cassandra just runs up to this giant and is like ‘Yeaaaaaaaah, fight me!’ We all look up, and she’s running around, smashing it on the ankle with her shield, just going to town on this thing. Bull, of course, is mad that he’s missing out on all the fun and goes hauling ass over there.”

“Meanwhile, you and Dorian just sit in the back and pew-pew it, because you wouldn’t want to exert yourselves or anything,” Bull said.

Rana folded her arms. “Either you want me kicking ass, or you don’t. You don’t get to complain about everything, or I’m not taking you with me anymore.”

Bull looked shocked. “Not take me with you? Boss, that’s _hurtful_.” He grinned. “I guess your little lightning tricks are pretty neat. I’ll forgive you this time.”

“Good thing,” Rana snarked. “I don’t know how I would have ever fallen asleep without your forgiveness.”

‘I know, Boss,” he grinned.

Someone in the cluster of off-duty soldiers waved his hand. “Tell us one about the commander!” 

“Perhaps we should leave that one to our esteemed Inquisitor,” Dorian said, laughing. “I bet she has the _best_ stories about the commander.” He peered at Rana, laughing harder. “Are you _blushing_?”

“It’s all the booze!” Rana lied, unable to stop the smirk on her face.

“She _is_ blushing!” Cassandra exclaimed. “Now even I’m interested, Inquisitor.”

“I am not telling stories!” Rana said. “I’m taking a page out of Dorian’s book - they’re not fit for mixed company!”

“That makes it even better!” Varric chimed in.

Bull waggled his eyebrows. “You could at least tell us if you two -”

“No, Bull.” She plucked another mug off the barmaid’s tray.

Bull was not deterred. “But I knew this mage once who -”

“Bull.”

He grinned. “I just think that he would really like it if you -”

“Bull!” Rana felt her face flame.

Bull sat back in his chair and grinned as laughter exploded around them. “So you have, then.”

Rana finished her ale and stood up. “I’m going to get us more drinks,” she huffed. “Don’t you have a story to tell?”

“Well, I suppose … since you’re not going to cooperate. So we’d made our way to the Shrine of Dumat … “

Rana weaved her way through the crowd as Bull set the scene, and finally reached the bar. “Another round for my table, please.” She turned to listen as she waited.

“... So there’s this huge fucking behemoth in the door, getting ready come at us, right? Seeker’s still off polishing some archer’s face with her shield, I had just dropped this knight, and the boss and Dorian are hiking across the massive courtyard. Well, Cullen just says ‘fuck it’ and charges that fucking guy.” 

A cheer went up from the crowd of soldiers.

“By the time we all get there, the damn thing is mostly dead. Lesson here is don’t piss off the commander, he’s not talking out his ass about all that training you guys do and he will fuck up your day if you get on his bad side.” Bull laughed. “Don’t screw around with red lyrium, either, or you’ll _really_ end up on his bad side.”

“Bull, I’m going to have you give the motivational speech the next time they complain about training,” Cullen called, laughing. “You do it far better than I do.”

Rana grinned as a bunch of soldiers turned to pepper Cullen with questions, then took her tray of drinks back to the table and snagged a mug.

“Varric, I want a chance to win my money back,” Cassandra said. 

“Oh, are we playing cards again?” Dorian asked. “Deal me in.”

“And me,” Bull said, “unless you guys are going to keep making these chickenshit bets. Boss, you in?”

“Not this round, but save me a seat.” She made her way over to Cullen, who was recounting a different battle at the shrine, albeit with more emphasis on tactics. She pulled a chair from a nearby table and sat down to listen.

Cullen gestured to the impromptu map he’d set up on the table. “And this is why we run through that drill where you - Rana!”

She grinned. “Don’t mind me, finish your lecture.”

Grayston coughed. “None of us are going to mind if you interrupt him, your Worship.”

Cullen laughed. “All right, all right. You’re getting off easy this time,” he said to Grayston.

Rana raised an eyebrow. “Wow, they’ve bought you a lot of drinks, haven’t they? Look at you, running some of your words together, face all flushed, looking all happy. You even stopped talking about work!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, trying to sound serious.

“Of course you don’t,” she laughed. “You want to get out of here?”

“Well, we were discussing -”

“Commander,” Grayston said, “rule one of going out to the tavern: if a beautiful woman asks if you want to get out of there, you _always_ say yes.” There were nods all around.

“But - “

“Commander, it’s the _rule_. And we all know how much you like rules.” Grayston grinned.

“Oh, well, if it’s a rule, I suppose my answer is yes,” Cullen said, swaying a little as he stood up, much to the delight of crowd of soldiers. “My lady?” He held out his arm. “I’d bow, but I think it would end poorly.”

Rana grinned. “I’d kind of like to see that, I can’t lie. But I won’t insist.” She took his arm. “Let’s go.”

Dorian looked up, eyes widening in shock as Rana and Cullen made their way out of the tavern. “Quick! Someone else verify this because I cannot believe what I’m seeing. Has our esteemed commander finally relaxed? I do believe that’s a drunken sway I see there.”

Cassandra hadn’t looked up. “Not possible. Cullen is far too duty-driven to -” She looked up and almost dropped her cards. “ _Maker_ , he actually is!”

“And see? Now he’s not just the hardass making them run drills all the time, he’s one of them,” Bull said. “His guys will respect him more.”

“Are you saying they don’t respect him, Bull?” Cassandra looked shocked.

“No, they do. But when he’s not just ‘the commander,’ when he takes the time to show them he’s got more to him than drills and inspections and mission summaries, it makes it personal. You fight harder for your guys because you know them.”

Varric chuckled. “So what you’re saying is, we should get Curly drunk more often. That’s the lesson I’m taking away from this.”

“You would, Varric,” Cassandra said, rolling her eyes. “Whose turn is it?”


	22. Chess and Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen decides to up the ante during the nightly chess game.

It's a pleasantly brisk spring evening at Skyhold and the sun is just beginning to set, washing the sky in a riot of oranges and reds. Rana has already set up the chessboard and is doodling insulting sketches on a letter from some groveling Orlesian noble when Cullen hustles around the top of their stairs, out of breath. He detours over to the desk and drops his armful of reports, then discards his armor, mentally making a note to polish it later. 

"My apologies, Rana. I was waiting on a letter." He threads his fingers through her hair, kisses her cheek, and sinks into his chair. Pulling a small, delicately engraved box from a pocket, he sets it to the side of the board. 

Rana's face lights up as she reaches for it. "Ooh, what's _that_? I love mystery boxes!”

He tsk-tsks at her and swats her hand away, shaking his head. "If you win tonight's match, you can open it," he responds, leaning back in his chair and lacing his fingers behind his head. "But if I win, I get to ask you any one question that you have to truthfully answer." 

She raises an eyebrow and steeples her fingers, eyeing the board, already plotting moves. "I have _got_ to see what’s in that box. You're on, Commander."

The game progresses, slow but sure. Friendly jabs - faux-tired sighs ("not the Warden Gambit again, Rana, you always lead with that") and snorts of derision ("says the man who's emotionally attached to the Cleric's Maneuver") - pepper the silence, as much a part of their games as the board and pieces. 

As time passes, pieces line each side of the board. Cullen and Rana both end up leaning forward in their chairs as the length of time between moves grows, but in the end it is Rana who is victorious, popping up out of her chair to do a little victory dance. She sits back down, reaches for the box, hesitates. "May I? "

He nods, biting the inside of his cheek, trying to tamp down his sudden attack of nerves. 

She opens it, regards the slender ring of hammered gold with a confused look on her face. "What is this?”

He clears his throat, offers a silent prayer that his voice won't waver. "The letter I was waiting on was from your father. I know it isn't required, and that if he said no that wouldn't influence your answer, but -"

Her expression darkens. “Said no about what? I thought we’d covered this with that Orlesian girl, that parents -”

He holds up his hands. “I had a good reason, I promise! You know me, I'm something of a traditionalist."

Rana’s eyes go wide and she fumbles the box, her mouth falling open. “Wait. What are you saying?”

He knocks his chair over as he lunges to catch the falling box, brings his knee down harder than he’d anticipated. "Andraste’s _ass_ , that smarts,” he mutters before straightening and attempting to regain some decorum. “Rana Trevelyan, you are the most smartmouthed mage I’ve ever met. You drive me to distraction, and I’ve given up on ever convincing you to stop throwing yourself directly into the face of danger.” He smiles. “You are the spark of light in the darkness, the shout of laughter across Skyhold on a gloomy afternoon, the silly fairy tale to my stodgy military history, and I love you well beyond reason. Will you marry me?"

For the first time in a long time, Rana is utterly speechless. The only sound in the room is the crackling fire.

Cullen chuckles nervously, clears his throat. "I know a proper ceremony will have to wait until after we defeat Corypheus, and Josephine will likely have the Crows after us if we take away a chance for her to plan a party. I thought we could do something more … quiet, before that." He pauses. "But only if you are amenable. If you'd rather wait, that's fine, too."

"You ... want to marry me?" A slow smile spreads across her face. “Truly?”

"Of _course_ ,” he says exasperatedly, looking at her like she’s daft. 

She takes his hands, smiles wider. “Yes!”

His relieved sigh - “oh, thank the Maker!” - as he sets the box on the table and pulls her into his arms makes her laugh out loud. She tilts her head back, looks at him with a devious grin on her face. “Were you worried I wouldn’t say yes?”

“You did take your sweet time doing so,” he says, mock-glaring at her.

She looks a little abashed. “I just … never mind, it’s silly.”

Cullen stands, winces as he puts weight on his knee, pulls her to her feet. “Come on.” As they settle on the couch, he slings an arm around her shoulders. “All right, now what were you saying?” He raises an eyebrow as he watches a blush rise in her cheeks. “Are you … blushing?”

“I wasn’t expecting it, that’s all. I’ve thought about it.” She laughs. “A lot. An embarrassing amount, actually. It’s just ….” She trails off, somberness momentarily crossing her face. “Well, marriage wasn’t really something I ever thought was in my future, obviously.”

He cups her face with one hand, gently presses his lips to hers. “And now?”

Her grin lights up her face. “Now?" She leans into him, kisses him hard. "Now you're stuck with me." Getting to her feet, she holds out her hand. “Let’s go get you a poultice for your banged-up knee and tell everyone the good news.”


	23. A Surprise Visitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get interesting when there's a late-evening arrival at Skyhold.

“Cullen, I’ve been thinking.” Rana is sitting on his desk, having rather unceremoniously moved a stack of logbooks to the floor to make room for herself. Her drawing board - a present from Cullen after she kept falling asleep at her desk, complete with ink holder and a space for her quill - lays across her crossed legs, her quill moving in short, bold strokes across the parchment.

Cullen doesn’t look up from the Hinterlands reports he’s sifting through. “This isn’t like last time, is it? The bartender practically marched me over to the quartermaster to requisition new tables and chairs to replace the ones you and Dorian incinerated.” He sets five reports aside, turns and settles the rest onto an already precarious stack against the wall.

“This is nothing like that,” Rana huffs. “And that was _Sera’s_ fault. We’ve discussed this.” She holds up the parchment, scrutinizes it, sets it back on the board and continues sketching. 

“I must have missed where Sera learned magic,” he drawls as he picks up another sheaf of reports. “Surprised they didn’t hear her shrieking about it all the way in Tevinter.”

“It was a _bet_ , Cullen. I can’t just ignore those kinds of things.” She carefully considers, drumming her fingers on the desk. “Ah!” Her quill flies across the parchment as she smiles to herself, clearly pleased.

An eyebrow twitch is all that disturbs his placid expression. “Naturally.” He taps a finger on his chin, re-reading the report in his hand. “Very well. What have you been thinking about, beloved?”

“With everything going on, and so much of our attention focused on finding Corypheus, what if we just started wearing our rings?” She sweeps her quill across the paper. “We don’t need two ceremonies, and it would make the one we do have more special, I’d think.”

He doesn’t answer right away, eyes darting across the report he’s focused on. “We still haven’t cleared that Tevinter ruin near Griffon Wing Keep. I’m making that high priority; it’s attracting Venatori.” He creates a new stack with the report, nods. “I don’t see an issue with your suggestion. I agree with your assessment." A brief pause. "Not to mention, Mia would never forgive me if she were to miss any wedding of mine.”

Rana studies Cullen for a long moment, looks back at her parchment, and grins as she begins drawing again. 

He steeples his fingers and narrows his eyes, watching her. “You … are up to something.”

She reaches over, ruffles his hair before he can duck out of the way. “Of course I am.” She looks down and makes a few more lines, then holds the drawing up with a flourish. An exhausted Grayston is staggering into an overly stern Cullen’s office, holding a wobbly stack of logbooks that reaches to the top of the parchment. 

Cullen bursts into laughter, startling the crow napping on his bookcase. “Impressive.” He takes it and stands, picks up a nail from a side table. “May I keep it?”

“Hang on.” Rana signs the bottom with huge flourishing letters. “All right, now you can have it.” She hands it over, grinning as he nails it to his wall. “Now that that’s done, Commander, are you _finally_ finished for the evening? I’m famished.”

“Yes. Can you-” He looks over at the sudden sharp knock on the doorframe. “Genevieve? What is it?”

The guard bows and directs her attention to Rana. “Your Worship, there’s a man at the front gate insisting he speak with you ... and you alone.”

Rana unfolds her legs and slides off the desk, then sets the drawing board in the empty space. “Who is it?”

Genevieve shakes her head. “He wouldn’t give his name, just asked that we fetch you posthaste.”

Cullen is at her side in an instant, hand already resting on his sword. “Won’t give his name? That’s-”

Rana places her hand on his arm. “Cullen, it’s one man. I think I’ll be fine.” She strolls across the battlement. “Of course, I’m going to arrive in my own good time.”

Cullen is right on her heels, nerves jangling. “Even so, I’m coming with you.”

She rolls her eyes as they make their way down the stairs. “Honestly, I think you’re overly concerned,” she says, slowing as they reach the hooded figure at the gate. She straightens, hands on her hips, tone serious. “You wished to speak to me?”

“I was hoping perhaps the Inquisition has room for another fighter,” he says as he bows, indicating the greatsword on his back. “I am proficient with a blade, and would be honored to lend my sword to your cause.”

Cullen leans down. “I would like to test his capability, Ra-” He stops, clears his throat, irritated that he almost made such a mistake. “Inquisitor.”

Rana nods. “Well, of course. But even if he can’t fight, he can still help.” Her eyes narrow. “You sound oddly familiar. May we have your name, stranger?”

The man pushes back his hood, revealing a youthful face. Unruly chestnut hair falls over his forehead, and his wide grin crinkles the corners of his hazel eyes.

The first thing Cullen notices in the torchlight is the striking similarity between Rana’s profile and the stranger’s, despite the difference in their heights. The second thing he notices is growing pain where Rana’s fingers are tightening around his arm as she gapes at the man. He looks at her, worry creasing his face. “Rana, what is it? Who is this?”

When she speaks, her voice is tight with emotion. “ _Marcus_?” She releases Cullen, closes the distance between herself and the man in three quick steps and punches him on the arm. “Why didn’t you just _tell_ me it was you, you big idiot? Why didn’t you tell me you were _coming_? I would have met you at the edge of the Frostbacks!” She wraps her arms around him, her fervent "I’ve missed you!” muffled against his chest. “I can’t believe it’s been seven years!” she exclaims, leaning back and swiping tears off her cheeks. “Look at you, baby brother, you’re all grown up.” She sniffles, wrangles her emotions under control. “Do Mother and Father even know you’re here, or am I going to get an angry letter in a few days?” 

Marcus rubs his arm and winces. “When did they start teaching you mages how to actually hit people? Yes, they know I’m here! Once Father got the commander’s letter, I decided that was my sign to finally make the trek to Skyhold.” He stops, sweeps her up in a bear hug. “I’ve missed you, big sister. Congratulations, by the way! You two haven’t gotten married yet, have you? Don’t tell me I missed it!”

She squeaks as he hugs her, laughs when he sets her down. “No, not yet. We’re waiting until after we’re done with this whole magister-with-delusions-of-godhood thing.”

“Good idea.” He nods, gives her a once-over, eyes drifting back to her hair. “Rana … why is your hair white?”

Cullen, standing off to the side watching the reunion, is astonished to see Rana look almost abashed as she runs a hand through her hair. “Oh, well, that’s a long story. I can tell you while we’re-”

A voice from above interrupts them. “Inquisitor, you are causing quite the hullabaloo down there, and _some_ of us are trying to get work done. Who’s your new friend?”

Rana tilts her head back, looking up at the battlement. “Dorian? What are you doing up there?” 

“Right now I’m just enjoying how breathtakingly handsome I am when limned by moonlight,” he replies, turning his head from side to side and preening. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

Cullen, clearly amused, mutters something under his breath about egotistical mages.

Marcus stares, unable to tear his eyes away. “Sweet _Andraste_.”

Rana starts to answer but is overtaken by a fit of giggles when she hears Marcus’ vehemently whispered exclamation. She goes on tiptoe to whisper in his ear. “Little brother, don’t drool on yourself this time.” 

Marcus nods slowly, attention still focused on the battlement.

“Why don’t you meet us in the tavern?” Rana calls up to Dorian. “Cullen and I were just getting ready to eat, and I’m sure Marcus is hungry after his long trip.”

“I absolutely would, if I wasn’t in the middle of a bit of research. I’ll come visit and we can do proper introductions tomorrow.” Dorian smiles, lingers a moment longer, then disappears back toward the library. 

“Who was _that_?” Marcus asks, still looking dazed.

“Uh oh,” Rana says to Cullen, a wicked smile on her face. “It looks like our resident Tevinter has _worked his magic_ on my poor brother.”

Cullen groans. “Rana, that was _terrible_.” He shakes his head, suddenly feeling very protective of Marcus. “And as for whatever scheme you’re hatching, no.”

She turns her palms up in a pantomime of innocence. “What?”

Cullen glares at her. “I know that look. I have sisters. Be nice.”

“You always take away my fun,” she pouts. “Anyway, Marcus, let’s get your horse stabled.” She takes the horse’s reins, turns toward the stables. “Master Dennet should still be there. I’m pretty sure he has his food delivered to him from the tavern. Maybe he’s done being angry with me for bringing him a dracolisk by now.”

“It is getting late, Rana,” Cullen says as they make their way across the courtyard. “Perhaps it would be better to simply bring dinner back to our quarters for the evening?”

“Agreed. Marcus, you can sleep on my couch tonight, and we’ll have Josephine set you up with your own quarters tomorrow.” Rana waves enthusiastically when they're still halfway across the courtyard. “Look, Master Dennet, I brought you a good old regular horse this time!” she calls.

Dennet laughs as they draw closer. “Thank the Maker! I still don’t know what to do with the last thing you brought me, but it certainly seems content to stay in its stall and eat.” He takes the reins. “This is a beautiful horse, Inquisitor.”

“That’s ….” Rana trails off, eyes cast skyward as she searches her memory for the horse’s name.

“Oh please don’t remember,” Marcus mutters under his breath. “I named him when I was six.”

Rana’s face lights up. “Nugchaser!” she exclaims triumphantly.

Marcus sighs as Cullen tries to hide his smile. “Of _course_ you remember.”

Dennet turns to the horse. “It’s a fine name, isn’t it, Nugchaser?” He smiles when the horse whinnies. “Six year old boys come up with the best horse names, I agree. Come on.”

Rana links her arms around Marcus’ and Cullen’s. “Let’s go, you two. I’m starving.”

\--

Cullen’s voice rings across the training grounds, loud in the early morning air as he observes the Inquisition's latest volunteers, a scowl darkening his features. 

“Swing that sword with purpose! You, pay _attention_ to where you’re swinging yours! You block with the shield, not cower with it!”

He looks over and notices Rana watching Marcus, who’s still sparring with Blackwall. He turns to Cassandra. “Seeker, can you watch the new recruits? I’m concerned they’ll hurt themselves, given how they’ve been doing so far this morning.” As Cassandra nods and takes up Cullen’s position on the field, Cullen makes his way over to the siblings. “Marcus, your technique is looking good, but we fight a lot of Venatori. How much experience do you have fighting mages?”

“Mages?” Marcus scoffs. “You only have to hit them a couple of times, in my experience.”

Cullen nods to Rana. “Inquisitor, spar with him.”

Marcus smirks, tries not to laugh outright. “Really?” His smile falters a bit when he sees Rana raise an eyebrow.

“Let’s do what the commander of forces says, yes?” She boosts herself over the top rail and stands ready on the far side of the training ring. “Waiting on you.”

Marcus checks the straps on the armor Dagna had given him ( _“this should suffice until we have your Inquisition armor ready, my lord”_ ) and gets into the training ring. “Very well, Rana. If you insist.” He connects with her barrier, but isn’t expecting the blast of cold and nearly drops his sword as she Fade-walks through him. His face takes on a determined set as he readies himself and pivots to face her. He lunges at her but her spirit blade, shining and translucent, knocks away his strike with a clang that echoes across the training yard. His mouth drops open in shock. “A sword! You can’t use a sword, that’s cheating!”

Rana grins. “Better learn to defend against it, then.”

He glares at her, adjusts his grip on his sword. “You only have so many tricks. Rana.”

“But they’re such _fun_ tricks,” she says cheerfully. “Come on!”

Cullen’s voice snaps like a whip. “Inquisitor! More sparring, less talking!”

Rana’s eyes narrow. “See, now we’re in trouble.” She pulls out her staff. “Better show the commander what you can do.”

After being knocked back by a fire mine and stunned by a lightning strike, the combat rhythm becomes clearer to Marcus and the bout intensifies. His hair is plastered to his forehead and temples and his chest is heaving, but he’s pressed Rana into a corner when a glint of sun on metal catches his eye. He sneaks a glance sideways and sees Dorian strolling up to Cullen’s side.

“Already having the Inquisitor beat down the new volunteer, Commander?” Dorian asks, amusement in his voice as he leans up against the training ring. “Didn’t even let him have breakfast first?”

The little voice in his head warning him he’s making a huge mistake fades into nonexistence as Marcus stares at Dorian - the gleaming mustache, the sardonic smile, the curve of his bicep as he leans against the rail. 

Marcus notices three more things in rapid succession: a sharp throbbing pain in the back of his head, the ground rushing at his face, and then Rana standing over him with an infuriating smile on her face, sword hilt in her hand.

“Little brother, it is unwise to lose your focus while fighting,” she says as she leans down to help him up. “Be distracted by everyone’s favorite Tevinter mage later.”

“I really am everyone’s favorite Tevinter mage,” Dorian echoes, grinning. “But the other Tevinter mages running around certainly make me look even better. Who knew such a thing was possible?" He extends his hand. “Dorian Pavus. And you are?”

“I, uh … I’m Marcus.” An awkward pause. “Trevelyan.” Another. “Rana’s brother.” He takes Dorian’s hand, shakes it. 

“A pleasure, Marcus,” Dorian says, smiling brilliantly. “You’ll have to come talk to me later and tell me all sorts of embarrassing stories about your sister.” His smile turns mischievous. “I have a few to offer in trade,” he continues, blithely ignoring Rana’s look of betrayal from behind Marcus.

Marcus’ neck flushes deep red. “Oh, I will, absolutely.” He coughs, tries to look nonchalant. “It was nice to meet you, Dorian.”

“Naturally! I’m amazing.” He winks and executes a small bow. “I look forward to talking with you later.”

Rana and Cullen exchange a look as Marcus watches Dorian saunter away. Rana’s mouth has compressed into a thin line as she smothers her grin. Cullen mouths “stop it” and gives her an almost-imperceptible shake of his head.

Marcus turns to Rana, glowering when he sees the expression on her face. “What?”

Rana laughs outright. “Don’t ‘what’ me, Marcus, I just watched you forget your name trying to talk to Dorian.”

He closes his eyes as his cheeks flame. “I _know_. But … but ….” He sighs helplessly, lost for words. “ _Look_ at him!” His dreamy expression twists into consternation. “How am I supposed to carry on a conversation when I stagger through an introduction?”

Cullen claps him on the shoulder, steers him toward the main training area. “Just talk about how great he is, and you’ll do fine. Dorian is Dorian’s favorite subject.” His tone becomes all business. “Now, your basics are good, but I want you to focus on improving against mages. I’m going to pair you with one of our knight-enchanters.” He pauses and glances over at Rana. “We should be done in a couple of hours.”

“Sounds good.” Her expression turns stern. “Don’t go easy on our new recruit, Commander.” She tries, and fails, to hold in a giggle. “Well, I already know he won’t go easy on you, Marcus, but you’ll be fine. I’ll meet you in the main hall when you’re done?”

Marcus nods, rakes his hair off his forehead. “I’m going to go swing my sword around and try to forget how much of an ass I just made of myself. I’ll see you in a few hours.”


	24. And I Said What About Breakfast at Skyhold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rana introduces Marcus to the crew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's one short reference to "Red Dwarf," because I'm amused at the idea of prim and proper Josephine eating the world's worst breakfasts as a guilty pleasure.

No one knows _exactly_ how the group breakfasts got started, but they know that they’re routine for everyone not currently away from Skyhold. As soon as the advisers are seen heading for the morning meeting, a runner alerts Cabot, who always has a hearty breakfast ready for whoever trickles in once the meeting is over. 

It’s ballooned from a few constants - Rana is a culinary enthusiast and can be counted on to show up anytime food is involved, Josephine has a standing special order for a fried egg chili chutney sandwich, Bull is almost always joined by some of the Chargers after their morning training - to a rollicking breakfast and informational meeting and bonding period all rolled into one.

“I’m _starving_ ,” Marcus declares as he and Rana cross the upper courtyard to the tavern, the statement reiterated by a loud growl from his stomach. “Your boyfriend ran me into the ground during training.” 

“Actually, I’m pretty sure that was me,” Rana smirks. “Remember? You got distracted.”

Marcus makes a face and rubs the back of his head. “Yeah, thanks for that, by the way. I’m sure I made a great first impression - dirt on my face and probably cross-eyed from you cold-cocking me.”

“Awww, come on now.” Rana reaches up to pinch his cheek, laughs when he jerks his head away from her and sticks his tongue out. “Do you want me to talk to him for you?”

His response is immediate and emphatic, accompanied by a vigorous head shake. “No!” 

“But-”

“ _No_.” He stomps his foot, dust puffing up and coating his boot. “I remember when you talked to that cute mage for me last time I visited you at the Circle.”

Rana smiles at the memory: Marcus all gangly limbs and longing looks, stammering his way through finding common ground with a honey-haired, green-eyed mage. “But Aundre liked you! Where’s the problem?” 

Marcus' voice is full of frustration. “That _was_ the problem! I was okay with it being a completely unrequited crush, and then you went and talked me up, and then I couldn’t manage three words to him. Oh, and let’s not forget the fact that I _knocked over a templar_ while trying to talk to Aundre.”

Rana chortles. “I did forget about that! Ser Loren was rather cross, as I recall."

“Well, you can't exactly blame him. He fell into the dining room!" He shoves the tavern door open, determined to end the conversation before Rana gets any crazy ideas. “Let’s go eat. I’m famished.”

Bull's voice carries across the large room as he waves an arm to get Rana’s attention. "Boss! Cullen swung by and said he won't be able to make it, but we saved you and the new guy seats!" 

Marcus inhales deeply as they reach the table, eagerly peering into the various bowls and pots. As one of the barmaids drops off bread and fruit, Rana slides in between Cassandra and Varric, leaving the chair next to Dorian open. “Have a seat, and I’ll introduce you to everyone.”

Dorian looks up at Marcus and gives him a dazzling smile. “Hello again, Marcus. I trust the Inquisitor's earlier underhanded tactics no longer have you seeing double?”

Marcus, fighting off an explosion of butterflies in his stomach, shakes his head and grins. “Unfortunately, no … given present company.”

Rana’s mouth drops open as Dorian bursts into laughter and nods approvingly. “I like how you think!”

Varric leans close to Rana, looking impressed. “He’s _smooth_ ,” he whispers.

“It won’t last. I don’t know how he managed that, but just wait.” Rana leans back in her chair and laces her fingers behind her head.

Marcus starts to lean on the tabletop, intending to continue the conversation, but he hits the edge of his bowl and flips it off the table. “Damn!” As he reaches out to catch the bowl, he smashes his fingers into the side of Dorian’s chair. “Shit!” He winces, vigorously shaking his hand.

Rana covers her laughter with a cough. “See?”

Varric smiles sagely. “Indeed."

“My dear, do introduce us to your … brother, yes?” Vivienne is in her customary seat at the end of the table. “Were you the late arrival last night?”

Marcus, grateful for the distraction, nods as he settles back into his chair and tries to ignore the rush of heat in his cheeks. “Yes, ma’am. I’d planned on getting here earlier but got a late start yesterday morning.”

“All right, I’ll introduce Marcus first, then work my way around the table.” Rana stands and clears her throat, then indicates him with a flourish. “May I present Marcus Trevelyan, youngest child of Bann Frederick Trevelyan of Ostwick, my grown-up baby brother, newest volunteer to join the Inquisition.” She looks around the table, grinning. “There are so damn many of you! Let me get through your names, then you can pepper him with questions.” She looks at Marcus, raises an eyebrow. “Ready?”

“Ready.” His brows knit together in concentration as he nods. 

“From my right, we have Varric Tethras, acclaimed author of such fine serials as -"

Marcus’ face lights up. “I _love_ Hard in Hightown!”

“Of course.” Rana is sure they can hear Cassandra’s eyeroll in Val Royeaux.

“Now, Seeker,” Varric chimes in, “I seem to recall that you -” 

Cassandra snaps a hand up to cut him off. “Do continue, Inquisitor!” She glares at Varric.

“As you wish, Cass,” Rana says, a slight tremor of laughter in her voice as Varric sits back, looking very self-satisfied. “Next to Varric is Cole. Cole is … well, Cole helps around Skyhold, and is wickedly quick with a dagger.”

Cole smiles. “I _do_ help!”

“The imposing figure next to Cole is _The_ Iron Bull.” Rana holds up a finger. “Don’t forget the article. He _really_ likes the article. Anytime you want to spar, ask Bull and he’ll probably say yes. Also, if you want to fight dragons, leave Skyhold with Bull. He’ll practically drag you around to find them.”

“Damn straight!” Bull exclaims. “Welcome to Skyhold, Marcus. Also, I’m going to supplant the Inquisitor and introduce my second-in-command, K-”

“Chief, _please_ , not before breakfast!" Krem pleads, to no avail.

A wide smile crinkles Bull's eyes. “Krem Puff!” 

Krem heaves a long-suffering sigh and drops his head into his hands as Bull looks very pleased with himself and Rana laughs outright. 

“Krem Puff?” Marcus scratches his head. “That _can’t_ be your name.”

“ _Technically_ , it’s Cremisius Aclassi, but we call him Krem, and Bull is a really big fan of Krem jokes,” Rana clarifies.

Marcus nods. “Got it." He looks around the table. "I’m assuming Bull and my sister get along famously, given how much she adores awful jokes?”

“I think you mispronounced _amazing_ , brother,” Rana says, mock-glaring at Marcus.

“Oh, of course. My mistake.” He winks at her.

“Anyway,” Rana says, “to continue. At the end is Solas. If you have questions about the Fade, ask Solas. He also has fantastic paintings in his study that you simply must see.”

“Thank you, Inquisitor,” Solas says, inclining his head. “You are welcome to stop by anytime, Marcus.”

Rana indicates the far corner of the table. “You’re here on a good day, as we are graced with a rare appearance from our spymaster, Sister Leliana, the Left Hand of the Divine. She knows what you’re doing before you do. It’s best if you just accept that now.”

Marcus tilts his chair back to better see Leliana. “At least _someone_ will know what I’m doing. I rarely do," he says genially.

Leliana chuckles. “I do my best.”

“You met Blackwall this morning,” Rana continues.

“Did a fine job sparring, as well. Solid fundamentals,” Blackwall says as he lifts a ladle of stew into his bowl. “Well done.”

“Thank you,” Marcus replies, clearly pleased. “We’ll have to have a rematch sometime soon.”

Blackwall nods. “Come find me in the barn anytime.”

“Next to Blackwall is Lady Josephine Montilyet, the Inquisition’s ambassador. She deals with all the nobles that I’d probably offend if I had to talk to them for any longer than two minutes.” Rana grins. 

Josephine sets down her fork and smiles at Marcus. “Welcome to the Inquisition, Marcus. We’ll get you quarters today. Come see me when you have some free time.”

“I’ll be sure to do that, Lady Montilyet,” Marcus says. “Do you have time after breakfast?”

“I do.” Josephine nods. “We can certainly get it done this morning.”

“Next to Josie is Sera, who has gone a remarkable length of time without spearing an apple with an arrow,” Rana says. “You and Sera will get along great. You make great cookies, Sera likes cookies, and you both like pranks.” A pause. “If either of you prank me, rest assured that retribution will be swift and terrifying.”

“Oh yeah, watch out for the big bad Inquisitor, she’ll getcha,” Sera jeers, making a face as she pointedly sticks an arrow through an apple.

Rana sticks her tongue out at Sera. “Moving swiftly on, I do believe you’ve already met Dorian."

"He has indeed had the pleasure of meeting me," Dorian says, cheerfully ignoring Cassandra's muttered _oh brother_ from across the table. “I look forward to getting to know him better, not least of all because Cullen never coughs up the dirt on you, Rana.”

“You can’t blame him,” Marcus chimes in. “Haven’t any of you ever seen her angry? I mean, really angry?” He looks around the table, notices the chorus of _no, not really_. “Well, I have. The commander is smart to make sure he doesn’t have to deal with that.” 

Dorian presses a finger to his lips, looking thoughtful. “I find myself insatiably curious about this mythical anger,” he says, eyes twinkling. “I just need to figure out how to get Cullen to ask the right questions.”

“Just make sure that anger isn’t pointed at you,” Marcus loudly whispers. “It’s much more enjoyable when you’re not the cause.”

“Marcus!” 

He jumps, swivels in his chair, and gives Rana an innocent smile. “Yes, Inquisitor?”

She levels a glare at him, her expression brimming with unspoken threats. “If I may continue?”

“By all means!” He laces his fingers together and sits up straight in his best dutiful schoolchild pose.

“On your left is Vivienne, Madame de Fer, enchanter to the Imperial Court of Orlais.”

Vivienne regally inclines her head. 

Rana wags a finger at Marcus. “If I find you frozen somewhere, I’m going to know you were rude to Vivienne, and I’m just going to laugh at you.”

“No, ma’am.” Marcus shakes his head. “I know better.”

“And to my right, we have Seeker Cassan-”

“I’m going to interrupt you, Inquisitor,” Cassandra breaks in, “and warn you that if you use my full name in an undoubtedly misguided attempt at what you call humor, the consequences will be severe.”

Rana shuts her mouth, opens it again. “Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast, Right Hand of the Divine.”

“Marcus, if the Inquisitor doesn't have anything pressing for you,” Cassandra says, completely stonefaced, “we need to take you out to the Hinterlands so you can kill your bear for your extra blanket." 

Marcus, having cultivated a healthy skepticism after growing up with Rana, looks unconvinced. "What?" 

"Gets cold, yeah?" Sera chimes in. "Gotta have that extra blanket."

Marcus raises an eyebrow. "Uh huh." He leans back to look at Blackwall, sees the older man enthusiastically nodding his head, directs his attention to Rana. "Seriously?" 

Rana is stern. "Marcus Corin Trevelyan, are you accusing Cassandra Allegra Portia Calogera Filomena Pentaghast, seventy-eighth in line for the Navarran throne, Right Hand of the Divine, of _lying_ to you?" 

Dorian tsks at Marcus. "I wouldn't. She's scary." He points at Cassandra.

Marcus risks a glance across the table, where Cassandra looks like she'd like to personally introduce Marcus' ass to her boot, and makes an appropriately penitent face. "No. No, I am not.” Unable to shake the feeling that he’s being taken for a ride, but completely unwilling to risk offending Cassandra, he nods. “All right, let's go find a bear."

"I'm in," Bull says as he shovels eggs into his mouth, unwilling to miss out on this particular adventure. "Krem, you're in charge until I get back."

Dorian raises his hand after wiping the corners of his mouth with a napkin. "Count me in. I didn't have anything else planned."

Rana points at Marcus' plate, mimes eating. "Get finished and go get your standard issue from Commander Cullen.” When Marcus doesn’t eat any faster, she glares at him. “Hurry up!”

\--

Grayston and Edwin are finishing up guard turnover when Marcus arrives in Cullen’s office.

“What can I do for you, Marcus?” Cullen asks as he hands the logbook back over to Grayston.

Marcus holds up a finger. “Before we get to that … is it actually true that everyone has to go to the Hinterlands to kill a bear so they have a spare blanket?”

“Absolutely!” Grayston chimes in before Cullen has a chance to answer. “Isn’t that right, Edwin?" He nudges the other guard with his elbow. "You and I were in the same hunting party, _remember_?”

Edwin enthusiastically nods. “Oh! Oh yeah! And we found that great big bear!” He grins. “Warmest blanket I ever had.”

Marcus opens his mouth, then closes it. “I guess I need my standard issue, then,” he says, sighing. “Cassandra said we’re leaving today.”

“Very well.” Cullen pulls a sheet of parchment off a large stack, checks some boxes, signs it. “Take this to the quartermaster, and he’ll get you all set up.” As Marcus disappears back down the stairs, he raises an eyebrow at Grayston. “What was that all about?”

Grayston shrugs. “Come on, Commander, you have to have a _little_ fun with the new guy. And it’s the Inquisitor’s brother! You know she’s in on it.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Cullen says, then chuckles. “Well, I suppose she can have this one.”


End file.
